


Raise a Little Hell

by danischmannni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Case Fic, F/M, Flirting, Het, Romance, Season/Series 03, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-29 19:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danischmannni/pseuds/danischmannni
Summary: Dean has sold his soul and intends to make the best of his time left on Earth. Pretty women and cheap booze fill his nights, and his days are spent with his brother doing what they do best. So, what happens when he meets his match just before the end of his world?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my goddess of a beta reader, [Wawa4me](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Wawa4me/pseuds/Wawa4me), she kicks ass.
> 
> Also, this is my first time posting here, so pleasepleaseplease let me know if you feel I am tagging incorrectly or missing something! The fic is finished, so the tags that are there are for the entire thing.

The diner was typically empty and quiet, save for the rush of traffic outside the window. No real sign marked the entrance, just the word “Café” painted in aging red on the glass panel that occupied most of the front wall. A sickly yellow wallpaper climbed halfway to the ceiling before giving way to an equally discolored, chipping orange paint.

The vinyl chair squeaked under Dean’s weight as he settled with a huff, moving closer to the table and pulling out the newspaper he had just grabbed off the stand. “So I think I’ve got something.”

Sam swallowed and eyed his brother with interest. It wasn’t often that Dean took charge of research. “Yeah?”

“Cicero, Indiana.” With a shrug, Dean tossed the paper onto the table in front of his brother. “Falls on his own power saw.”

Most of the red laminate tables had sugar packets stabilizing one of the legs. The thin paper placemats sported a plain outline of the state of Indiana, with a large star marking “You Are Here!”

“And?” The headline shouted about a man dead in a tragic accident, but to Sam this seemed more clumsy than suspicious. “What, that’s it? One power saw?”

Dean brushed off his scrutiny, slinging an arm over the seat next to him and nodding with confidence. “Well…Yeah.”

“And, you think that this is a case?” Sam glanced over the article again, sure he had missed something that would make this worth traveling for.

“Well, I don’t know, could be.”

“I don’t know, Dean. I…” He was cut short by his insistent older brother.

“Alright, there’s something better in Cicero than just a case.” Dean leaned over the table, a nostalgic smile splitting his face.

“And that is?”

“Lisa Braeden.” He answered with a nod of his head.

Sam breathed out an annoyed chuckle and licked his lips, “Should I even ask?”

“Remember that road trip I took, uh, gosh, about eight years ago now? You were in Orlando with dad wrapping up that banshee thing.” Dean waved a hand at the man across from him, hoping to ease the frustration from his face.

He caught his younger brother up on the activities of his trip, sparing the explicit details in hopes of staying on his good side long enough to hit the road for Cicero. “Come on, have a heart, huh? It’s my dying wish!”

“Well can your dying wish wait? Bobby called.” Sam quirked an eyebrow and slid the newspaper back. “He’s got an actual case for us. Said it’s urgent. And weird.”

“Sammy, come on! Twenty-four hours with Gumby girl and we can work whatever case you want. You do all the research your little heart desires. Bobby can find someone else.” With crossed arms Dean leaned back in his chair and extended his bowed legs under the table.

“Okay, sure, you tell Bobby we’re skipping a hunt for a yoga instructor.” Sam snorted his response. “I’m sure there are flexible girls in Kentucky.”

“Kentucky?” Dean huffed with incredulity. “You seriously expect me to spend some of my final days in Kentucky?”

The words silenced Sam, and his brother took notice. There was an abrupt gap in the conversation. The two men eyed each other, both slightly shocked by what was just said.

The air conditioning hadn’t worked in two years, and there was a solitary fan in the corner that was unreliable at best. The air was heavy and unseasonably warm for a Midwestern May, which promised an unbearably muggy summer.

Sam’s eyes fell and jaw clenched momentarily at the phrase “final days.” He dropped his chin an inch, ready to concede to the Cicero trip, when Dean spoke up.

“So, how weird are we talking?” Dean leaned forward tentatively to rest his elbows on the table. The “final days” card was a low blow, and he knew it.

“Really?” Brunette eyebrows lifted over hazel eyes.

Dean shrugged in an effort to hide the remorse he was feeling. “I mean yeah, if Bobby said it’s weird it’s gotta’ be like, Twilight Zone weird.”

“More like Japanese bamboo torture weird.” Sam paused, and let out an amused chuckle at his brother’s confused expression, head cocked and brows knit together. “Get this, the site for some giant house being built, a tree grew straight through a construction worker. Not shoved through, new growth. Even weirder, now the rest of the construction crew is protesting the site, saying we need to ‘protect our forests’ or something.” By the time he finished both of them were hunched over the table.

“So what, some kind of cursed land or something? Like that spot in Oklahoma?” Dean shivered inwardly at the thought of all the creepy crawlies they had endured there. “I don’t know if we can do much with that, didn’t manage to break the curse before.”

“Right, I said the same thing. But Bobby said he’s got a contact for us out there, someone who knows this kind of stuff.”

“The weirdest of the weird hunter? Great.” Dean sneered. “I can only imagine what kind of freak Bobby’s expects us to work with.”

“So, we’re going to Kentucky?”

“Yeah. Yeah I guess we are.” The chair scraped the floor loudly as he pushed himself from the table with a minute sigh and stood. He began moving toward the door, paper forgotten, and spoke back to Sam over his shoulder. “But after this you owe me a friggin’ week in Cicero. Deal?”

Sam stood as well, trying not to think of exactly how much he owed Dean, and put on the most genuine smile he could manage. “Yeah. Okay, Dean.” He pulled his canvas jacket over his shoulders hurriedly, catching up with Dean and following out the door.

Outside, heat bounced off the pavement and thawed their skin. The black surface of the Impala glimmered subtly at the curb, bathed in late spring sun. The winter had been long and heavy, despite spending it in the warmth.

Sam couldn’t understand how Dean was dealing with what had happened at the devil’s gate, and he was clearly not dealing with the issue of his soul. He walked with a lighthearted gait, but uneasiness pulled at the lines of his face.

“Come on, Samantha!” Dean called, having jogged over to the driver’s side of the car, hand resting over the roof.

Sam rolled his eyes and hurried to the passenger side. Before starting the car, Dean rolled down his window, directing Sam to do the same. He produced his worn box of cassette tapes from under the bench seat and plucked one from the top. It slid into the player with a click and whir.

The speakers shredded the air around them and Sam winced. Dean lowered the volume a fraction before starting the car.

“Weather’s gorgeous for May.” He smiled big and revved the engine, looking to Sam at his right. “I hear Cicero’s beautiful this time of year.”

Sam chuckled and lowered the radio a hair more, ignoring Dean’s subsequent glare. “Yeah, just get on the road. It’s a long ride to Kentucky.”

* * *

The diner was small and the kitchen borderline unsanitary, but most of the menus items were good and the owners threw her a couple shifts whenever she was in town. There were decorative plates that pictured stars from the “golden age” hung along the walls and a jukebox that had been manipulated to play for free in the corner. Sometimes the soda gun got jammed and sprayed sticky syrup in every direction. A dollar hung on one wall in the kitchen, away from patrons’ eyes, with “I sucked dick for this” scrawled in sharpie. Some crass line cook had taped it up there years ago and no one ever bothered to take it down.  


The owners, old family friends, knew the hunting life didn’t accommodate a stable job, and liked the idea of her earning money over hustling pool. They also liked the idea of her moving into town permanently and forgetting about everything that went bump in the night, but some habits were hard to break. There was a tiny studio apartment above the diner that was as close to home base as she came.  


So as Nora bound down the back stairs for her late night shift, hands smoothing her brunette hair into a ponytail and elastic dangling from her teeth, she didn’t feel sorry at all for her tardiness. Nora was at ease here. Shooting a sheepish grin at Ronnie, the server anxiously waiting to be relieved, she grabbed a black apron from behind the counter and began to tie it over her dark jeans.  


Ronnie was a longtime fixture in the diner. For someone who hardly breached five feet tall and was overall slight of stature, Ronnie commanded respect. She got her pick of shifts and customers, and no one questioned her unofficial authority. After waiting tables for longer than Nora had been alive, she had the attitude to carry it. Even the kitchen staff feared her.  


She had also been a friend of Nora’s family before their accident, but made a point of not knowing the details of what happened. A sort of “if I can’t see monsters, monsters can’t see me,” approach. It would have been a risky one if a certain young hunter wasn’t looking out for her.  


“I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry!” The older server huffed at her hurried apology. “But I promise I had the best reason.” Her repentant demeanor gave way to a sly smile and wink as Nora glanced toward the ceiling and her makeshift home upstairs.  


“Honey, he better have been some kind of Adonis, because I got places to be.” Ronnie cashed out, head shaking with irritation, and made her way around the counter. She paused, leaning back over to stage whisper, “He still up there?”  


With a wrinkle of her nose Nora admitted, “He was when I left, but here’s hoping he catches the hint.”  


Ronnie rolled her eyes. She liked to hear about the youthful conquests, albeit begrudgingly. Something about it made her feel young, and Nora didn’t mind the forgiveness for when it ran into work. It was a symbiotic relationship.  


Then, with a wave of her hand Ronnie was out the door, and Nora was left to stare at the nearly empty dining room.  


One half-drunk regular sat at the counter, both hands curling around his coffee cup like it was seeping life into his skin. Being only ten o’clock, it seemed a little early for him to be sobering up already. Judging by the state—and smell, for that matter—of his clothing, there was a good possibility he was sobering up from the night before.  


His eyelids drooped and head nodded for a moment before Nora shouted, “Frank!” With a snort, he straightened his spine. She picked up the coffee pot and refilled his mug without bothering to ask. “I’ll be back out in a few, holler if you need anything,” she tossed over her shoulder as she turned the corner into the kitchen.  


Not surprisingly, there wasn’t anyone behind the line. Frank was too cheap to order food, and the late night rush was not expected until closer to bar time. Nora ducked into the walk-in cooler to grab the flask hidden behind the ten gallon bucket of pickles and headed back to the kitchen, humming to herself. While the line during a rush might not be her place, the deft server could hold her own when it came to the grill and fryer. Simultaneously switching the radio to the classic rock station that came from a tiny studio in the next town over, and taking a swig from the flask, she got to work.  


It was easy to lose oneself in the kitchen, and this was often how she spent the slower hours of her shift. The owners allowed one free meal each shift, and the employees tried to get as creative with them as they could. Today, Nora was constructing a burger with plenty of cheese and onion, avocado if she could find it, and maybe even a runny egg on top. She decided to whip up something greasy for Frank while she was back there, as well, in hopes of keeping him from passing out on the counter.  


As she bounced between the grill top and the prep station in time with the AC/DC coming from the small boom box, she heard the back door creak open and slipped the flask into her apron. Not that anyone in charge would be particularly upset or surprised to find that some of the servers liked to sip when the place was dead, but better safe than sorry. Luckily enough it wasn’t any sort of authority figure, but rather the cook in charge for the evening.  


“Chunk! You scared the shit out of me, I thought you were somebody coming to bust my balls.” Nora visibly relaxed as she dipped a hand into her pocket and produced the flask. Chunk took it with a chuckle that crinkled his already hooded eyes.  


No one was entirely sure of Chunk’s real name. Obviously the nickname was a Goonies reference, though the stocky man looked more like a dwarf reigning from the Misty Mountains than someone likely to break out into the truffle shuffle. Regardless, Chunk he was. His tie-dye shirt had the sleeves torn off, and a hemp necklace hung just below his collar bone. Between his clothing and his impressive sideburns, he was the perfect example as to why the kitchen crew avoided customers at all cost. He was a great guy, just not so public friendly.  


“Ah, Nora, I do love working the night shift with you.” He took a pull without flinching and handed the whiskey back. “Hey, you know some guy walked out of your apartment just now?”  


A smile cracked her face as she paused with the metal rim of the flask poised in front of her lips. “No, but I was hoping he would.”  


Chunk snickered again and dismissed the subject. “So, you taking over for me tonight? Givin’ me a break?” Every time he found a server playing behind the line he’d offer, as if they could actually handle the kitchen on their own.  


Nora responded with a patronizing laugh, “Ha-ha, one of these days I’ll take you up on it and we’ll see how that goes.” She finished piecing together her burger, and poured a healthy scoop of chili over the fries she had just dumped onto a platter. “It’s just Frank up front and I’ve got a deck of cards. Interested in getting your ass kicked ‘til we get some real customers?” With a wink, she nudged the door to the dining room open with her hip and slipped through.  


Frank’s face was resting in his palm, but barely. It was falling fast, as were his eyelids. Nora set the plate on the counter close to his face, with a purposefully loud clank. His head snapped up, eyes bleary.  


“Eat. On the house. And if you puke anywhere, you clean it. Deal?”  


“Y’know, y’always take care‘f me, sweetie.” Frank slurred. Nora answered with a grimace and walked over to the table Chunk was waiting at.  


Sitting down with her burger in hand a grin dimpling her cheeks, Nora asked, “So, will it be Go Fish or War tonight?”  


And that’s how the next hour passed. Come eleven thirty a couple teenage boys wandered in, probably out past their curfew, but they were well mannered enough so no one gave them any sass. By twelve forty-five the lone server was slammed, balancing three plates down one arm and desperately trying to remember how the asshole at table four wanted his burger done.  


Somewhere around half past one, in between rushes, she noticed a classic muscle car hum its way into the lot. A sleek black Chevy Impala, either a ’67 or ’68, she couldn’t quite tell in the dim lighting. Either way it brought on thoughts of the back seat, and Nora wondered inwardly if hooking up in that car would be considered a conquest in and of itself. Though, to her disappointment, the car never parked, and instead turned around and headed back in the opposite direction down the dark country road.  


Any fantasy she was enjoying was cut short by the ringing of the door and another group, obviously coming from the bar next door, stumbling their way to a booth. Once the diner got busy, the night passed quickly and without complication. Somewhere in that time Frank had gotten up from the counter and Nora absentmindedly hoped he made it home okay. By the time they were ready to close, Nora and Chunk were both exhausted and had sobered up completely. She was silently grateful that her commute home was just upstairs.  


She waved her goodbye to Chunk as she dragged herself up what felt like a mountain of steps to the studio. Even before the door could shut her jeans were unbuttoned and she struggled with her shirt halfway over her head. Turning over all four of the locks on the door, she stumbled the rest of the way into the room and fell back onto the mattress kept on the floor.  


The place itself was barren, inhabited by the mattress, a hand-me-down sofa, a small table with two chairs, and one singular lamp, also on the floor. Piles of books took up the most area, crawling up walls and threatening to take over the space entirely. Nora took special interest in the weirder side of the supernatural; ghosts and demons could be left to the average Joe. As pious as many hunters thought that was, it was the attitude that allowed her to take time off to spend at the diner.  


Clothes were strewn across the floor, never fully unpacked from the duffle bag kept at the foot of the bed. There was a small kitchenette, used mostly for booze since the diner was directly below, and a tiny bathroom off the main living area. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to crash whenever needed.  


Laying on her back, finally down to just underwear, she let one hand slip under the pillow to rest on the silver knife she kept buried there. The young woman’s affinity for hunting and living alone had left her especially cautious, even when on sabbatical. She allowed her eyes to drift shut as the other hand skimmed the elastic band of her underwear and trailed up cool flesh until it reached her sternum. With a hum she drifted off, her last thoughts being of purring engines and leather seats.  


And after the hurricane at the diner, Nora hadn’t thought to glance at her phone where it lay blinking, demanding attention, under her discarded clothing.  


* * *

Sam Winchester was regretting taking on this case the moment he walked into the seedy motel room. He and his brother had seen their share of off-color residences, but this was surely the worst. The wallpaper appeared as though it was once a hue of salmon, but managed to look even more nauseating under the layer of dust and soot that had settled there. The carpet was matted down with dirt and stuck the sole of his shoe with every step.  


Dean Winchester, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the aura of dirt in the room. He settled roughly on the nearest bed, paying no attention to the look of disgust shot his way.  


“Dude, maybe we should sleep in the car. This is pretty rough.” Sam kept his bag in his hand as he wandered the room, trying to touch as little as possible.  


“Come on, Sammy, Miss Kitty’s Dream Palace? This is the finest that Middle-Of-Nowhere, Kentucky has to offer!” Dean turned to his brother with a shit eating grin. He spent most of the drive complaining about the trip, this time in a more teasing manner. “Bet Cicero has more than one hotel.”  


Sam rolled his eyes and resigned himself to settling in for the night. His brother’s whining had ceased to bother him somewhere outside of Lexington, when he realized it was less bitter and more playful. He rested his bag on the opposite bed and set up his laptop up on the small table, intending to get some work done before falling asleep.  


“Hey, put the research off for a night. We can’t do anything until Bobby gets in contact with his special friend anyway.” Dean sauntered to where Sam was seated and shut the computer. “There was that bar on the way in, uh, Red’s or something. Looked like they had pool and cheap whiskey.” He lifted an eyebrow and put on his megawatt smile, the one he reserved for getting what he wanted. He turned his palms outward and shrugged, just for effect.  


“Dean, I don’t—“  


“Sammy, come on! Live a little! We could use some brotherly bonding time.” Dean chuckled and tossed Sam his jacket, grabbing the keys and heading out the door.  


The underlying implication regarding how long they had left for said bonding clung to the stale air. Dean didn’t need to wait for an answer to know Sam would be following—shaking his head and grumbling under his breath, but following all the same.  


* * *

Nora woke the next day to warm motes of sun drifting through the blinds and settling across her face. She cursed her eastern-facing window and rolled over into the pillow. One hand shuffled across the floor, searching for her phone. Her fingers finally settled on the brick and she lifted her face from the pillow, flipping it open to check the time. The small clock in the corner showed that it was almost ten, but that wasn’t what held her attention.  


No, there was a big notification in the middle of the screen that shouted four missed calls and three voicemails. And they were all from Bobby Singer. Nora rubbed a hand over her face and dragged it through her hair, sitting up and pulling the phone to her ear. She knew she wasn’t the best at communication, but it wasn’t often she went completely hermit like this. Bobby would be worried at best, and beyond pissed at worse.  


Sure enough, he was in need of her assistance on a case in the area. Something that seemed right up her alley, he said. The first message he simply told her to call back. By the second, she could hear he was irritated and losing patience. In the third, he stated that he had called someone else and they were on their way to her town.  


Her eyes went wide and she huffed, hitting the green button to call him back.  


“Nora?” Bobby picked up after two rings and didn’t bother with a greeting, anxiety resting just under the surface of his voice.  


“Bobby I swear, you know I don’t work with other hunters, and I sure as shit don’t need you to send a couple babysitters to—“ she decided to forgo the greeting as well. Her elevated tone was cut off by Bobby, halting her mid-sentence and clearly meaning to put her in her place.  


“Listen here, girl, you know better than to not answer the phone. And I did not send babysitters. Not to say that your infantile ass doesn’t necessarily need one!” His tone changed as soon as he realized she was safe. Nora turned the phone away from her mouth and laughed a little. There was something endearing about Bobby’s temper. “I sent those boys out there because there’s a case to be worked and you couldn’t pick up your damn phone!”  


This time she didn’t bother to hide the laughter, standing up from the mattress in a long stretch and moving about the apartment. “Ah, I miss you old man. Getting the third degree like this is making me all nostalgic. I’ll have to visit soon.”  


She could hear him take in a breath, clearly gearing up for another barrage, and then let it out in a sigh a moment later. “I miss you, too, kid.” A warm, and slightly uncomfortable silence settled over the line. “So, you gonna’ help or what?”  


Nora sighed a little and agreed to lend her talents to the old hunter. She wandered the apartment, lazily shedding the lacy undergarments from the night before and turning the shower on to warm up. Over speaker phone he gave her every detail he had: man intends to build house, tree grows through man, environmentalist cause gains some unlikely followers. Nora listened intently all the way through, already wracking her brain and collecting a stack of books to pore over.  


“So? Any ideas?” He finished.  


“Well, I’ve got a couple but I’ll need to do a little reading first. Seems to me that as long as those construction guys are holding people off with their protest we’ll have some time to figure it out.” She clicked the phone off speaker and placed it once again against her ear, using the other hand to check the temperature of the cascading water. “Diner’s closed tomorrow and I can make tonight my last shift for a while. I’ll have an answer by Monday at the latest.”  


“Knew I could count on ya’, girl.” Nora could hear the fondness he was trying hard to hide in his voice. “I’ll pass your number on.”  


She dropped her hand abruptly and leaned back against the counter. “Whoa, whoa, Bobby. I agreed to help you, not some other tools. I’ll take care of this myself.”  


“Stubborn idjit, they’re already in town!” His voice began to climb again, bringing a smile to Nora’s face. “They’re there and working the case already, take the help and work with them. Just once, it won’t kill ya’.”  


“Working the case, huh?” She tossed deep chestnut hair over one shoulder and admired her form in the steam-covered mirror, feeling a small spark of competition. “Tell them there’s no need. I’ll take care of it before they even figure out what they’re working with.”  


She heard him exhale into the speaker, knowing her brashness all too well. “Talk to you soon, Bobby.” She smiled, dimples carving her olive cheeks, and flipped the phone shut. Stepping into the scalding shower, Nora readied herself for a day buried in her books.  


By the time the late night shift had rolled around, her eyes were sore and head was aching. It had taken all afternoon but she was certain she’d narrowed it down to just a couple of creatures, and had plans to check out the protestors the next day.  


With a sigh she pushed herself up from where she sat and began to change for her shift. It was Saturday, and that assured a long and stressful night. She would have to start early and end late, all with the boss peering over her shoulder. Grabbing a beer and steeling herself for the evening to come, she got ready to go.  


* * *

“What the hell do you mean she ‘doesn’t want to’ work with us?”  


Sam quirked an eyebrow when he heard the female pronoun from his brother. Dean held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he laced his worn dress shoes. They were scuffed around the toe, he hadn’t bothered to buy a new pair in years. “I’m great to work with. I’m a damn peach!”  


“Sure you are, but she ain’t.” Bobby’s voice sounded distorted over the small speaker. “I’ll do what I can to get an answer from her. In the meantime, just do what you boys do.”  


They paced the room with a practiced ease while Dean talked, simultaneously dressing and arming themselves. Their movements breathed expertise as they hid as many weapons as was comfortable beneath their trim suits.  


“Well, did you tell her how utterly irresistible I am?” A smirk pulled at one side of Dean’s lips and he nodded at his brother, waggling his eyebrows. Sam only rolled his eyes.  


Gliding past one another in paths that could have been choreographed, Dean caught Sam’s attention and tossed him a sheathed silver blade. Sam tucked it into the strap around his ankle and passed Dean his handgun from atop the nightstand, which Dean positioned in the waistband of his dress pants.  


“Yeah, and that you like red wine and long walks on the beach.” Bobby grunted through phone. “Now go take a look at that body, and I’ll get your answer. Idjits, all a’ you.” The call shut off with an abrupt click, and Dean made a childish face at the screen.  


He slid the phone into his pocket and pulled the suit jacket over his broad frame. “Well Sammy, I guess it’s just you and me on this one.”  


Sam pulled his own jacket on. “She? I thought this was a guy?”  


“Apparently she’s not. And apparently, she’s a bitch. Says she won’t work with us.” Dean tugged at the cuffs of his shirt and moved through the front door, satisfied with their preparations.  


“So, what then? We just search the lore and work it like a normal case?” Sam hurried to follow his brother outside.  


“Yes we do, Sammy. Yes we do.” With a hand on the roof of the car and a satisfied smile on his face, Dean swung into the driver’s seat in a move that spoke of familiarity. The leather sang under his weight, still kept in near-mint condition despite the miles he’d spent in that seat. With a tap of his thumb on the steering wheel, he turned the key in the ignition and reveled in the vibration moving up his legs from the engine. He didn’t think that sensation would ever get old, of leather in his palms and his baby purring at his fingertips.  


The radio was already set to the classic rock station he had found coming into town the night before, and it seemed to do no wrong so far, nothing but his favorites. Sam settled into the seat beside him and grinned at his brother’s obvious pleasure in being behind the wheel. Dean began to nod and hum to the Zeppelin coming through the speakers and peeled out of the lot, off to do what they did best, no expert needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Lisa & Ben story as much as the next girl, so in my mind, someone else swooped in to save the day for them. Yay, canon divergence!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be weekly updates, but I'm way too excited to put it out there so it will likely be daily updates instead! Enjoy!

The Winchesters' visit to the morgue did little to answer any questions. The corpse lay with a ragged hole three inches in diameter, where one would expect the heart to be. The bloody branch that was said to have been found through the body, still attached to the tree, was now perched on a metal tray next to it. Sure enough, the bark was smooth and flexible, dotted with green buds of new life. The striations were clear and fresh on the blunt end where it was sawed free. 

A conversation with the sheriff, a small, brusque man that grumbled under his breath about having pertinent things to attend to, explained the situation more in depth. The victim had been a member of the construction crew set to build the impending mansion on the secluded property. He had gone out a day before the others to mark the foliage that would need to be removed and was found by his crew the following morning, hanging by the newfound hole in his torso like a macabre ornament. 

He had a wife and two kids. Dean felt silent pity for the family of the poor son of a bitch, thinking of them waiting on an answer that wouldn’t come. 

The sheriff, though, was preoccupied. He was drumming his fingers on the desk, taking phone calls, doing everything he could to get the “feds” out of his office. The recent protestors seemed to be a headache for the small town law enforcement, something they likely had no experience with. 

By the time they had been successfully shooed from the office, Sam and Dean had more questions than answers. On the road back to the motel they decided on two stops: the library for any books they could get their hands on, and anywhere with a fryer for sustenance. They had a long afternoon of research ahead of them. 

“So cursed land? Ent? Possessed tree? Can trees even be possessed? ” Dean sighed in frustrated exhaustion as he revved the Impala’s engine, seeming more melancholic than he had been on the drive there. 

Sam shot his brother a disbelieving look, brow crinkled and one side of his upper lip turned upward. “Tolkien? Dean I didn’t think you had the attention span for Tolkien.” 

Dean snorted and turned his palms upward, hands still resting atop the steering wheel. “Hey, no one said I couldn’t be cute and cultured!” 

At that, Sam let out an abrupt laugh. “And Lord of the Rings makes you, ‘cultured’?” He emphasized the quotation with a raise of eyebrows and dip of his head. 

“Hell yeah! War, jewelry, giant friggin’ eagles?” Dean slid his eyes off the road for a moment, a sheepish grin pulling at his lips. “Besides…Galadriel is kinda’ hot. In a scary sort of way.” 

Sam shook his head and let their conversation give way to the music on the radio, storing that information for later torment. After their designated stops they found themselves back in the grungy motel with a disappointing stack of informative material, and an impressive stack of every grease-laden food imaginable. Sam went directly to his computer, while Dean went straight for the fries. 

With Sam at the undersized table and Dean sprawled across the bed, the sun sunk lazily from overhead to peer through the window as the day progressed. The air was quiet save for the ticking of the laptop keyboard and Dean’s humming as he flipped page after page. Sam gritted his teeth in an attempt to ignore the fidgety noises coming from the other end of the motel room, glaring up through his lashes. Occasionally the two exchanged theories and useful information. 

When the sun had fallen completely and the food had run out, Dean hoisted himself dramatically from the mattress and swung his feet onto the floor. “That’s it man, if I read another word I’ll puke. Let’s go out, grab a midnight snack.” 

Sam considered fighting this, insisting on an all-work-no-play strategy, but took notice of the throbbing behind his eyes and agreed. Shutting the laptop and moving for his coat, he paused. “Where are going? Coldiron doesn’t have the greatest nightlife from what I saw.” 

Dean hesitated as well, hand hovering over his keys. “Huh…Oh hey, there was that, uh, diner. Next to the bar last night. Looked like it was open late.” A self-satisfied smirk lit his face. “That’s where those poor sons of bitches went after we kicked their asses in pool, remember?” 

Dimples dotted Sam’s cheeks as he reflected his brother’s grin. “I remember the guys, and I remember myself kicking ass. But I seem to remember you off elsewhere. Where were you again?” 

“Hey!” Dean barked, not taking the teasing well. “We don’t need to bring that up.” 

“Oh I think we do. What was her name? Did you even get it before she threw her drink in your face?” Sam tossed over his shoulder, heading out the door and to the Impala. To his pleasure, Dean’s smug expression fell. “Maybe if you weren’t drinking tequila you would’ve stood a chance.” 

“No way, I do not drink tequila. Didn’t happen.” Dean leveled him over the roof of the car before settling behind the wheel. 

“Oh you did. There was lime and salt and none of it came from a bellybutton.” Sam tried the handle, only to find it securely locked. “Hey, don’t be mad because I remember the night and you don’t!” 

Dean’s haughty air had grown strength again. “Say it. Say I didn’t drink tequila and we can go.” 

“Dean! Really?” 

“You know the magic words, Sammy!” 

Sam jiggled the handle once more before sighing and resigning himself to his brother’s childishness. “Alright, fine. You’re a big manly guy who would never drink tequila.” The lock clicked over. 

He opened the door with a defeated huff and swung his leg inside to sit down, when the car lurched two feet forward. “Dean!” He removed his foot from the car and ducked into the opening to glare at Dean, who had his head thrown back in full-bodied laughter that crinkled his eyes and filled the brisk night air. 

“Okay man, okay. Just get in, I’m starving.” He motioned for him to enter with a nod of his head and his wrist slung over the steering wheel. 

And it only took three more tries before Dean relented. 

* * *

Nora genuinely loved the Larsons. They gave her a home when she had none and a job when she didn’t deserve one. Despite them never having children of their own, they fell into the role of parents effortlessly; they disciplined when necessary and gave space when needed. Diana Larson had taught her all the family recipes, and Arthur let her tag along when he putzed around the garage. They had known Nora’s parents since they were children, and never pried. She was lucky, really. For someone who had no biological family left, she had plenty of parental love, between Bobby and her adopted parents. 

So that meant that she loved Arthur Larson even when he was her boss. Even when he was barking orders and breathing down her neck, questioning whether she had remembered the side of ranch for table six, she couldn’t mouth off. Never to him. 

The Saturday night crowd had proved to be as unpleasant as ever, and there were hours yet before closing. Luckily they were better staffed than the night before, with an extra server and an extra cook, so they were managing. Unluckily, one of the cooks on the line that night happened to the one Nora couldn’t get along with despite her efforts. Trevor was tall and gaunt, with a wiry orange beard clinging to his face. His breath always held the acrid tinge of smoke and he didn’t understand the concept of honey over vinegar. Working with him was always a challenge in restraint and one’s ability to keep from shouting in front of customers. 

Nora spent most of her evening somewhere between biting her tongue with Arthur, and taking it out on the foolhardy cook. One arm stacked with plates, she used the other hand to lift her middle finger at something shouted from behind the line. 

“How long until we can close up?” Elise, the poor girl had only been serving a few weeks before being thrown onto the drunk shift. Nora pitied her. She was sweet, but obviously young. Her blonde hair was meticulously plaited into twin braids that would be a mess by the end of the night, and she brought her own gel pens in every color. 

“Honey, we’ve got a long way to go before we sleep.” Nora tossed back at the inexperienced waitress, passing her behind the counter on her way to deposit the food. 

Still, Elise was more pleasant to work with than some, so she counted herself lucky. Not as lucky as if Ronnie was running the dining room beside her, but Ronnie never deigned to work Saturday nights. 

The evening had its hitches, but was overall smooth. Stressful, but nothing they couldn’t manage. And considering her obvious seniority, when the same black Impala pulled into the lot, Nora made sure to claim the customers before she had even seen them. 

* * *

The first thing Dean noticed upon stepping through the door was the scent of grease and sugar floating over the dining room, urging them farther into the restaurant. The second and third were the two servers, bouncing between tables. A small, well put together blonde that brought forth thoughts of gentleness and corruption, contradicted by the strong, and somewhat intimidating, brunette. She moved with confidence, propelled by thighs that were clearly muscled under her fitted jeans. The dichotomy had his mouth watering: waif and warrior. 

The bell on the door rang out from behind them, and the brunette paused in front of him, hands filled with food that smelled better than anything he’d had in the last week. “You two grab a seat, I’ll be with you in few.” Her lips shot up in a quick smile that hollowed dimples in her cheeks before she moved on. 

Dean swaggered to the nearest booth, throwing a glance at Sam over his shoulder and settling in. The red leather bench groaned as he slid toward the window, keeping an eye on his baby under the yellow lamplight of the parking lot. He rested his forearms on the edge of the table and surveyed the room. 

The place was busy, full of what seemed to be locals. Everyone called each other by name and sampled from one another’s plates. The waitresses laughed with those who seemed to be regulars and played along with jokes that they’d probably heard three times that night. The food looked average, but smelled like heaven. Elvis played softly in the background, barely heard over the din of voices and silverware that filled the space. 

It wasn’t more than a couple minutes before tan, unmanicured fingers dropped menus onto the table. Dean’s eyes skimmed lazily up from the hand and over her figure. The faded denim of her jeans wrapped snug around her hips and over the curve of her lower back, giving way to a trim waist. When he reached her face, he noticed her eyes flick between him and his brother before settling back on him. 

She smiled cheekily, in a gesture that lit up her face. Her eyes drifted shamelessly down his form as she asked, “Hey folks, how are we doing tonight? My name’s Nora and I’ll be taking care of you.” She seemed distracted and a little breathless, obviously worrying about the other tables around them, but still making an effort to seem personable. 

“Better now that you’re taking care of me, sweetheart.” Dean punctuated the sentence with a wink. 

Sam rolled his eyes at the cheap remark and turned a tight lipped smile to Nora. “We’re fine, thanks.” 

She leaned against the back of the bench Dean was seated in a raised an eyebrow across the table at Sam. “He always this original?” 

Simultaneously, Sam let out an unenthused laugh while Dean snorted and turned in his seat to shoot his brightest smile at the server. As he lifted his elbow and moved to swing his arm over the bench behind him, his hand caught the ketchup bottle at the end of the table and sent it flying. Glass shards and sticky sauce painted across the floor, and Dean’s embarrassment was met by hoots and applause from the other customers. Sam’s laughter only got louder, and Dean thought he could hear an apology in between breaths. 

He turned his eyes slowly from the mess on the floor up to the woman he was failing miserably at making an impression with, offering her a guilty grin. Where he expected to see frustration and anger, he was surprised to find her shaking with laughter, also applauding his fumble. 

“Oh, thanks. Really, thanks. Glad I could be entertainment for you.” Dean rolled his eyes, but soon joined in chuckling. The smile that split her face was more genuine when she laughed than the customer service expression he had seen earlier, and was something worth looking at. He grabbed a handful of paper napkins and bent to clean up after himself. 

Nora placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gently pushed him to sit back up. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll grab the broom.” She was still laughing as she bound off to the kitchen, gingerly stepping over the mess on the floor. 

“Smooth, really.” Sam mocked his brother. “Two nights in a row, you’re on a roll here.” 

“Shut up.” Dean groused and tried to stuff the unused napkins back into the holder, before giving up and crossing his arms over the table. 

The waitress came back and cleaned what she could without going as far as pulling out the mop bucket. “There we go, that will do for now. Can I get you all something to drink? Maybe with a lid for you?” She winked in Dean’s direction. 

“Coffee, maybe? If you’ve got a pot made.” He decidedly ignored her jab. 

“Just water for me, thanks.” 

Dean took an extra moment to eye the waitress as she walked away before turning to his menu. They seemed to offer a little of everything, and boasted the best burgers in the area, which made his decision easy. Sam, on the other hand, was disappointed to find a lack of green options. 

When Nora returned from the kitchen, stopping to check in with other groups along the way, any playful air she held before had dissipated. Her customer service smile was back in full force as she dropped off their drinks and penned their orders. 

It was clearly a hectic night, but that didn’t stop Dean from trying. He grinned and addressed the busy woman as “sweetheart” whenever he had the opportunity. She appeared pleased and played along, obviously a veteran in the service industry. 

The crowd was boisterous and friendly. A woman clearly on the far side of sixty leaned over twice to tell Sam how beautiful his eyes were, eliciting a stammered thank you from him and giggles from her silver-haired friends. Two men at the counter hunched over a portable mini television, hooting cheers at some sports game. Their waitress, Nora, shushed them whenever they did, though she clearly wasn’t serious. Sam and Dean enjoyed the excited energy of the place, laughing and throwing fries on occasion. 

There were plenty of patrons that had obviously wandered over from the bar they had visited the night before, and Dean wasn’t surprised. The burger he had ordered held the perfect balance of grease and bun to soak up anything sitting in one’s stomach at the end of the night. 

The noises of the crowd grew as more people stumbled in, until a clatter and man’s shout from the kitchen quieted most of the room. Nora appeared in the swinging door, hands full and foot propping it open when she paused, calling back toward the noise. 

“Throw all the shit you want, if your mediocre ass subs something on my order one more time, I will rip your fucking--” she stopped abruptly as she turned and took notice of the room full of attentive patrons. Her eyes flitted across the room and landed on the stocky, red-faced man that seemed to be the owner, giving an embarrassed smile and a shrug. 

Someone called from the corner of the room, “You tell ‘em, honey!” and the chatter resumed. 

“Man, Sammy,” Dean licked his lips. “That’s my kinda’ girl.” He waved at Nora, catching her attention. She nodded in return and made her rounds across the room before heading in their direction. 

Sam chuckled at his brother’s presumptuousness. “Sure, okay. Just don’t get on her bad side, she’d kick your ass.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows and donned a smug expression as the waitress sidled up to their table. 

“So how was it all? Can I get you anything else?” Nora had just finished dropping off an armful of plates and stood with her hands on her hips, taking a moment to relax. She began to pull her notebook from her apron and offer their bill when Dean spoke up. 

“Sweetheart, what time are you finished tonight? I think you could use some stress relief.” He beamed up at Nora, hoping his earlier misstep would be forgotten. 

She, instead, gave him an irritated look. “Oh, honey, what kind of girl do you think I am? I’ve gotta’ be wined and dined first.” Her eyes bounced from Dean to the table a few feet away trying to grab her attention. 

In his periphery Dean saw Sam shake his head in sympathy for the girl who obviously had more pressing things to attend to, but he didn’t slow down. “I can make that happen, I’m a classy kinda’ guy.” 

She eyed his worn leather jacket that seemed to hang over his figure as if it were a size too large, and jeans that were just this side of threadbare. Dean was almost sure he saw her glance out the window at his baby in the parking lot before dropping the check in from of him. She pivoted away and her hips swayed as she moved to the next table vying for her attention. 

“Ouch, man. This is a rough town for you.” 

“Hey, that wasn’t a no!” Dean reached for his wallet, eyes never leaving Nora. She continued about her business without looking in his direction, but he thought she was moving a little slower and more deliberately than she had before. 

She returned to the table and palmed his check without glancing down. The waitress took her time moving about the room before heading to the ancient register perched behind the counter. By the time she had deposited it back in front of him he was certain she was avoiding his gaze and calculating her movements. 

Nora hooked a hip over the edge of the table, meeting his eyes with a challenging stare. “I’ll be free tomorrow night, how’s that sound?” 

A grin spread across his features, lighting a triumphant twinkle in his eyes. “Sounds perfect. Your place or mine?” 

She scoffed shortly at his audacity. “I live above the diner, you can pick me up here.” And with a casual wave she was gone, gliding through the crowded room with an accustomed ease. 

Dean looked down at the paper in front of him, a phone number and a time scrawled in hurried writing across the back. He gave Sam an excited look and held up the check. “See?” 

Sam raised his eyebrows and angled his chin downward, looking at his brother in disbelief. “Dean, a date? You have a date.” 

Dean paused, taking in the realization of what he had agreed to. “I mean, that’s alright. I can do a date.” He nodded, reassuring himself more than Sam. “Yeah, I can do that. What’s life without a little challenge sometimes, anyway?” He took one last sip from his mug and pocketed the slip of paper before hoisting himself from the booth. 

Sam led through the entryway and into the parking lot. Dean took a moment before following to glance back, only to catch Nora looking him up and down from behind the counter as he walked away. He shot her a hurried wink and let the door close behind him. 

Sam was waiting at the Impala, palm resting on the roof, when Dean caught up. He graciously ignored the way Dean walked with more energy than usual, one hand still hovering in his pocket, fingers tracing the edges of the paper there. 

Once they had settled on the leather upholstery and Dean was busy turning the key in the ignition, Sam turned to him with narrowed eyes and a twitching lip. “Did you even give her your name?” 

Dean’s hands hovered where they were about to take the wheel. He dropped them with a shrug. “No problem.” The engine revved, propelling the car backward and onto the empty road. “That’s what people do on dates, right? Get to know each other.” 

He punched the gas harder than necessary and turned up the radio, his spirits seemingly lifted despite the day he had spent buried in the books. 

* * *

On Sunday, Nora was a reporter. Of all her altered identities, reporter was among her favorites. The reporter costume fit her well, the pencil skirt was more flattering than her FBI pantsuit. As a reporter, she didn’t have to be so serious; her pensive, absentminded tendencies fit better as a writer. 

So, in preparation to visit the forest and interview the protestors, she donned a thick pair of glasses and pinned her hair in twisted locks on the back of her head. She began her day with an early start and little sleep, but the extra tips from the night before eased the pain a bit. 

The hunk in the muscle car was right, she needed some stress relief. And despite the busy day ahead, she hoped finding time for him tonight would do just that. It could be argued that she should be focusing on the case at hand, but she could judge his type. They would do drinks, exchange pleasantries, and end the evening with a quickie—exactly what she needed as a sendoff from civilian life. Nora was already poring over news from nearby states, keeping an eye out for a job after the present one. 

Looping her homemade press credentials over her head, she strode out of her apartment and down the swaying metal steps that hung from the outside of the building. The fire escape was a hazard, but with the diner closed and locked for the day it was more convenient. 

Her trusty, dusty Buick slept in the lot behind the diner. It was too new to be classic, and too old to be flashy, but it was sturdy and she allocated most of what she made to restoring and maintaining the beast. Between her unconditional love for the car, and the after-market additions of a roll cage and powerful engine, it did its job. 

The drive to the isolated lot outside of town was smooth and pleasurable, with the windows rolled down and stereo turned up. Nora sang with the radio and reveled in the morning May air lapping at the nape of her neck. Upon approaching the construction site she lowered the volume and slipped into her professional façade. 

The property was picturesque and secluded, filled with lush foliage that climbed over the bloated earth of the hill. It was old piece of land that sat unused for generations, passed down in the same family. Sunlight heated the wild grass in a vibrant, organic mosaic, still stippled with dew. The trees were many and varied, some blooming with little white flowers and others already budding fruit. One in particular, though, stood out from the rest: a towering oak in the center of the glade, the leaves a rich shade of green and bark thick with age. 

Hovering on the road just before the property line were two inattentive cops, conversing over coffee, turned away from the recent activists. The men there had tied themselves to the very trees they were set to take down with thick, fibrous ropes. It brought forth black and white images of protesters chained to bulldozers, something she’d seen in a history textbook once. 

The demonstration was surprisingly subdued, and Nora wondered if the small town, blue collar workers had ever seen a protest before. The group was small, what appeared to consist solely of the construction crew for the project. She recognized a couple of the men from around town or in the diner, none of whom she took for the environmental type. Yet, there they were. 

The cops took notice of Nora as she approached, sensible kitten heels tapping the faded asphalt that lead to the site. One seemed to straighten his back and lower his coffee cup, trying to emulate a semblance of vigilance. The other just shamelessly dragged his eyes over her from the ground up. 

“Morning, gentlemen! Helen Arkham, Middlesboro Daily News.” She extended a hand to the nearest officer and then the other, gripping both with shaky enthusiasm. They nodded and introduced themselves. “So, what’s the deal here?” 

“Ah, just some tree-huggers. Nothing special.” The professional one, Officer Marshall, sipped his drink and hissed at the heat. “Sheriff’s got us watching them, but there’s nothing violent going on. They’ll be cut down soon as a new crew is hired.” 

Nora nodded pensively and drew her eyebrows together. “Uh huh, and how long has it been going on?” 

Officer Marshall became guarded, obviously uncomfortable with speaking to an agent of the press, and hesitated with pursed lips. Nora waved him off. “Strictly off the record today guys, just scouting out local tips. Nothing being written as of now.” 

“Since Wednesday morning.” He was curt, and spoke with caution. 

“Uh huh…” She bounced her eyes to the man who had been staying quiet thus far, Officer Finn. “So the same day the body was found.” 

Officer Marshall tensed, Styrofoam cup halted an inch from his lips. “Ma’am, we are not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation.” 

“Come on, boys, I told you. Nothing official, just curiosity here.” She directed her words at Finn, framed in eyelashes and implications. 

Finn seemed to consider it for a moment, but saw the sharp expression on his partner’s face and shut down completely. “Sorry, sugar, strictly police business for now. When we want the press to know, you’ll know.” 

Nora bared her teeth in a smile that looked too large for her face. “I understand. If you’ll excuse me, then, I have protestors to talk to.” 

The officers looked surprised, but did not move to stop her as she glided away and toward the tree line. As she neared the men she could hear their casual chatter. A couple glanced in her direction and gave a friendly nod before returning to their conversations. They all seemed so comfortable, no anger or enthusiasm to enforce their demands. It was as if this was their usual Sunday morning routine. 

One man spoke up as she neared them. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He used a hand to shield his brow as he turned his face to the sky. 

“That it is.” As she approached it became obvious that these men had been here for days, by smell and appearance alone. Further into the property she noticed a woman and child handing out sack lunches. “Mind if I ask what’s got you all out here?” 

“All this. These trees.” The talkative man beamed, gesturing widely around himself. He was surly, blotchy tattoos peeking out from under thick body hair, and the animated expression looked satirical on his features. “They’re beautiful. Just beautiful.” 

Nora offered her hand to shake. “Helen Arkham, I’m a reporter. Were you a part of the construction crew here?” 

“Toby.” His palm was calloused and enveloped her much smaller one. “Yeah, we all were.” 

Some of the other men had begun to take interest in their conversation, turning to listen. Nora captured the gaze of the woman across the glade, still passing out food, and saw a tired apprehension in her eyes. 

“Well, I’m sorry to hear about your friend, then.” 

The mood shifted immediately, if minutely. A few of the men became edgy and hostile, others irritated and dismissive. The woman winced where she stood a few meters away, eyes going wide. Toby’s smile faltered for a moment before returning with threatening strength. 

“A shame, really. But he was a threat to the forest.” His mannerisms had turned predatory. “Simply a matter of self-defense.” 

“Self-defense…of the forest that is?” 

He radiated pride again and hesitated before speaking, holding his unblinking stare on Nora. “Just beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Nora backed instinctively from him, frightened by the dreamy look in his eyes. There was obvious spellwork involved, but nothing she was familiar with. She managed a distracted, “thank you for your time,” as she walked away, but no one was listening. All of the men had returned to their conversations, completely forgetting their fallen friend or their anger from moments before. 

The grass was overgrown and damp where it brushed the top of her feet. She walked deeper into the property, gravitating toward the immense oak. It loomed over the rest of the property. Swirling knots in the surface were reminiscent of peering eyes. The bark grew in wide strips, and vines climbed around the trunk and into the branches. 

The closer she got, the more she could feel it. She wasn’t sure what it was, but the tree had a presence that could not be dismissed. It was enticing, drawing her in. Her fingers floated out to skim the vines that choked the base. A pulse radiated up her arm and to her core on contact. 

They were no kind of vine she’d seen in the area before. Nora enjoyed her time outside, and was known to take the occasional afternoon hike when she needed to stay in shape, but this was nothing she could recognize. Not to mention that this area wasn’t densely forested enough to promote vine growth. 

The plants clung to the bark of the tree with dark, cilia-like fibers that sprouted from the wide base. Veins of light, iridescent green swirled up from its roots. 

After a few moments of prodding she felt the plant tug at her mind once more, and she broke from it. Her feet were heavy and clumsy as she staggered back, out of the immediate radius of the tree. From ten feet away, it again looked harmless. Just a beautiful old oak, waiting for someone to sit in its shade. The ominous psychic presence would’ve been easy to forget. 

She turned over her shoulder, again looking to the construction workers who seemed to be so enchanted. 

In her periphery she noticed the woman from earlier walking away, holding the child’s hand and ushering him out of the area. The kid babbled, seemingly not more than five or six, shuffling his feet and swinging his miniature fist in his mother’s grasp. 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Nora quickened her steps in hopes of catching the mother before she could leave. The woman seemed to falter for a moment, finally stopping and turning around with a reluctant sigh. “Hello, I’m Helen Arkham, with the Middlesboro Daily News.” 

The woman rolled her eyes and resumed her hastened pace toward her parked car. “No comment,” she said over her shoulder with a bitter laugh. 

“No, wait. Wait!” Nora moved as quickly as she could without tripping over her own feet. “I’m not looking for a comment, alright?” 

The woman didn’t turn to face Nora, but she stopped walking, her back heaving quickly in a curt sigh. Nora caught up quickly. 

“I’m Helen.” She offered her hand and a bright smile, and got a light shake in return. “Forget the paper. I live in town, and I just wanna’ know what’s going on.” 

“Kathy.” The woman’s lips were tight and foot was tapping. She glanced between Nora and the child holding her hand. “It’s a protest.” 

There was a tense pause, Kathy glancing back to her car. 

“Did I mention this would be off the record?” The warm breeze picked up momentarily, freeing a wavy strand from Nora’s tightly coiled bun. She tucked it behind an ear and put on her most reassuring expression. 

After a moment’s hesitation Kathy ducked to face the boy tugging at her side. “Go wait in the car, honey. Okay?” She pulled at the collar of his flannel before sending him off to a nearby minivan. 

“That’s kind of you, bringing lunch for the guys out there.” 

“Yeah, well, they’ve got to eat. Even if they’re trying to save the trees, or whatever.” She seemed reluctantly caring toward the protesters. “My husband’s out there. Been here since Wednesday.” 

Nora shielded her gaze from the sun and looked across the mound. “He, ah, the eco-friendly type?” 

Kathy sniggered with a harsh quality. “No.” Her arms wrapped around themselves defensively and she bounced her gaze from Nora, out over the glade. “But, I’m trying to be supportive. If he wants to quit his job and save the world, so be it.” A bitter grin curled her lips, and she spoke with a sigh beneath her words. 

Nora took notice of the uneasy stress surrounding them. Supporting those left behind had always been the most challenging part of the job for her. The confusion and loss that surrounded the supernatural left her with stuttered condolences and shaky hands. Research and speculation suited her much better than field work. 

She extended awkward fingertips, brushing the woman’s shoulder and eyed the little boy in the distance, singing to himself in the van. “It’ll turn out. He’ll come home, okay?” 

Kathy nodded and curled her lips in an unconvincing smile before turning away, headed to her son. Her back was convex with anxiety and her feet barely lifted from the ground. Before approaching the van she ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her shoulders. By the time Nora caught a glimpse of her face, her smile was conveying stability to the babbling boy in the backseat, and then they were gone. 

Nora considered prodding the cops once again for information, but opted for a long drive instead. She hoped the music and the wind would inspire a revelation. With one final glance at the oak, she shuddered and began her walk to where the Buick sat. There were hours still before her meeting with the mystery diner guy, and she intended to spend them on the road. 

* * *

Visiting the family is undoubtedly the worst part of any case. Spouses left behind are normally drowning in twisted affection. Young children often don’t understand, older ones often do, and it’s hard to decide which is more painful to witness. Every encounter was another drink at the end of the night, and each mournful face lived inside the eyelids of the empathetic hunters. 

This family interview was no different. The newly minted widow was in shock. She invited them in with a perfunctory scan of their FBI credentials and sat indolently staring somewhere just beyond the living room. A teenage girl, presumably the daughter, hovered in the kitchen and fearlessly sipped a beer, daring a reaction from her spaced-out mom. Sam and Dean settled on the plush couch across from the mother, who had introduced herself as Deb. 

Sam cleared his throat, startling Deb but effectively bringing her back to the present. “We’re very sorry for your loss, ma’am.” 

Grief formed a seal over her eyes. “Thank you. Harry will be greatly missed around here.” 

Sam nodded stiffly. “Ma’am, we have a couple questions for you regarding your husband’s passing.” 

The woman released a small sigh and settled further into her seat. “Sure, sure. Ask away.” 

“Now, Deb, did you notice anything strange about Harry in the days leading up to his death? Was he acting strange at all?” Sam lead the questioning as Dean was struggling to divert his attention from the adolescent in the adjacent room. 

“Oh, ah, no. No, not that I can think of.” Deb searched her memory for anything that stuck out. “His company had just gotten this new job outside of town, the Koehler house. He was just starting work when…” 

Sam held up a hand to stop her and Dean spoke up for the first time. “I’m sorry, ma’am, is there a restroom I could use?” 

Deb directed him down the hall before returning her attention to the conversation. Dean took this opportunity to slip into the kitchen. Their exchange could be heard drifting through the large opening between the two rooms. 

He hooked a hip on the edge of the granite counter next to the teenager and grabbed the bottle from her hand. She didn’t protest, didn’t even look in his direction. 

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.” Dean took a quick swig and grimaced at the off brand that was certainly not his first choice, before emptying the rest in the sink. 

The girl still didn’t pay him any attention. 

“My name’s Dean.” He searched the cabinets until finding a glass, and filled it with water. He offered it to the girl, and she finally met his gaze. 

Her eyes were angry and defiant, but eventually softened as she took the peace offering from his grasp. “Michelle. Thanks.” 

Dean found it hard not to feel for her; her resentment over her unexplained loss was all too familiar. Dean knew how it felt to be left with too many questions, what it was like to be the only thing holding together a desolate parent. Sometimes he felt as if saving people from this fate was more important than saving them from the monsters themselves. 

He hovered for just a moment more before returning to the business at hand. Sam seemed to have moved on to the less conventional questions: cold spots, sulfur, electrical anomalies. Just as he had settled next to his brother on the couch, there was a soft knock at the door. Deb excused herself to the entryway and the two brothers turned to each other as she left. 

“So?” Dean whispered with a glance over his shoulder. 

“Nothing. None of the usual signs.” 

“Come on, there’s gotta’ be something.” Dean was starting to get frustrated with all the dead ends on this case. 

“Dean, he was just doing his job, I don’t think this is where we need to be.” 

Deb reentered the room with another woman and small boy in tow. “Agents, this is Kathy Geiger. She’s also a wife of, uh,” Deb paused and looked to the other woman for permission. “Her husband worked with Harry.” 

Sam and Dean stood to exchange handshakes and introductions with Kathy. The younger mother carried a casserole pan and two large bags of food, and looked drained. She introduced herself and then bent to talk to the young boy hiding behind her thigh. They exchanged hushed words before the boy went running off into the house, clearly comfortable there. 

“Deb, I brought by some stuff for dinner, I’m going to set it in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, agents.” She eyed Sam and Dean wearily before carrying her supplies out of the room. 

Deb watched her leave with compassionate eyes before turning her attention back to Sam and Dean. “Kathy’s been really helpful to us lately.” She lowered her voice before continuing, “Her husband is one of the men who’ve, uh, started protesting.” 

Dean nodded. “Yes, we’ve heard about the protesters at the construction site.” 

“Yes, the crew.” Deb was clearly becoming uncomfortable, shoulders hunched and fingers twitching. “Kathy and a couple other spouses have been bringing meals for them every day. They usually drop off a casserole for us, too. So sweet.” 

Dean softened his expression and tried to convey comfort in his posture. “That’s very thoughtful. Now, the protesters, they—“ he was cut off by a jagged sob coming from the kitchen. 

All three heads twisted in the direction of the noise. Kathy could be partially seen, her elbows rested on the counter and her forehead on her palms, blonde hair tangled around her fingers. Her back shook minutely, but she had quieted herself, thinking she was hiding her grief. A sudden feeling of intrusion settled over the conversation. 

“I’m sorry, agents. I think it’s important that I deal with this.” Deb began to move in the direction of the door, implying that they follow. “Is there anything else you needed from me?” 

The men made their way toward the entryway. “No, thank you, I think that’ll be all.” Sam smiled with tight lips before letting himself out, Dean followed. 

They were quiet on their walk to the car. Dean tugged at the knot around his collar, letting the tie hang low over his chest. With a palm resting on top of the car, he broke the silence. “So, what then? None of the normal stuff?” 

“Yeah, none of the usual signs.” Sam swung into his seat with a huff. 

“This is seeming more and more like that cursed land crap we dealt with in Oklahoma.” Determined irritation ran a current just under his voice. “And still nothing from Bobby.” 

“So,” Sam raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “We take a look at the land.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they finally meet, yay! Stay tuned for their smuttastic date :3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no willpower, have some more story.

In Dean’s eyes, the guys at the construction site were obviously whackjobs under some type of spell. The tree that killed Harry looked like a normal tree, albeit old and huge, and there was no EMF to be found. The cops on duty were useless, and they couldn’t get anything coherent from the protesters. Still, the two-lane road out of town made for an enjoyable ride and helped to clear his head. Sam, on the other hand, insisted it was a sure lead. He seemed almost giddy to begin his research. 

So, Dean stretched himself across the grungy duvet, ankles crossed and beer in hand. Sam, still dutifully working the case, struggled to ignore his brother. The television was turned louder than was necessary in the cramped motel room, and Dean could not contain his commentary on the tacky soap opera. 

He tilted the bottle to his lips and chuckled to himself, more engrossed in the fictional drama than he would be willing to admit, when Sam finally spoke up. “So, uh, how’s the show? Any big breaks?” His voice was saturated with annoyance. 

Dean grinned and tilted his head. “Sammy, we all know this is above my pay grade. You figure it out and tell me where to point my gun.” Another bitter sip. “You’re the brains here anyway.” 

The days in the grimy motel room were beginning to erode Sam’s patience for his brother, and the difficult case was doing nothing to make the time easier. He felt as if he was finally making progress, but it was slow and exasperating. Dean had turned his drink into an instrument, blowing over the lip, when Sam remembered. “Don’t you have a, uh, date or something to get to?” 

Dean lifted his eyebrows and looked to the clock on the wall. Sure enough, he was due at the diner in ten minutes. “Shit.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hoisted himself off, headed to the bathroom. 

The water spilled cold into the yellowed porcelain basin and Dean splashed it over his face. He scrutinized his reflection in the dirty mirror. “I don’t even know where to take this chick. Think that bar counts as ‘wining and dining’?” 

Sam laughed under his breath and started a search for restaurants in the area. His brother may be inept, but he needed to get him out of his way if he was going to get anything done. “Here, I think I found something.” 

With wet fingers, Dean ran his hands through his hair as he emerged from the bathroom. He dried them on his jeans and leaned over the table, expecting information on the creature they were hunting. Instead, though, he was faced with a list of eating establishments in a twenty-mile radius, which all looked as if they had a dress code. 

“Oh come on, I’m not going to any of those places.” Dean shoved off from the table. “We’ll hit that bar, go to her place, and call it a night.” He smirked at his little brother. 

“What happened to ‘everyone needs a challenge’?” Sam scoffed and began writing down the directions to one of the restaurants; it was a twenty minute drive which would give him plenty of time for productivity. 

Dean sniffed the flannel he had been wearing throughout the day and decided it was long past acceptable. He dug through his duffel, going for a worn Henley, when he changed his mind. He pulled out a cotton shirt with buttons and a collar, one he usually reserved for his monkey suit. “See? This is challenging.” 

Sam smiled and simply held the directions out between them. Dean eyed the paper with trepidation before snatching it from his hand and stuffing it into his back pocket. Sam was satisfied that he had secured at least an hour or two of distraction-free work time. 

“Don’t you need, I don’t know, a reservation or something at a place like that?” 

“I’ll take care of it, just go.” 

Dean took notice of the commanding tone in his voice, but let it slide. Staring at himself in the dark screen of the ancient television, Dean unbuttoned, then re-buttoned, and again unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t completely comfortable in the formalwear, but was now adamant he could make it through the night. 

He picked up his keys and spun them around his index finger. Spreading his arms, he posed halfway out the door in his wrinkled shirt. “Look at me, Sammy, classy as fuck.” 

* * *

When the Impala finally rolled to a bumpy halt on the cracked blacktop, Dean was five minutes late and the diner was dark. His fingers trailed the strong lines of the hood as he circled his parked car and searched the building for a sign of life. He may not have much experience with dates, but he was fairly certain this wasn’t ideal. 

A metallic clatter echoed from behind the building and his instincts kicked in, propelling him around the corner. With suspended breath and heightened senses, he was faced with something that could very well be worth fearing, but not of the supernatural variety: Nora. Her scuffed boots looked to challenge the stability of the metal staircase with every step. She was halfway to the ground and had half of her hair pulled on top of her head when she took notice of him. 

“Oh, hey.” Her lips twitched upward, and he was reminded of her congenial laughter with the patrons the night before. 

Dean leaned on the nearby handrail, hoping she hadn’t noticed his quickened footfalls. “Hey, darlin’.” 

Her eyes flicked from his face down his body. “Oh, you look nice.” She halted her descent three steps from the bottom, lingering just out of his reach and a head taller than him. He caught her glance quickly down at herself, and for the first time he noticed the bleach-stained t-shirt, ripped down the sides. 

Inwardly, he cursed his little brother. 

“Yeah, uh, I got reservations, or something. At that Italian place. Uh, wining and din--?” He cut himself off. “Or we could just hit that bar?” His crooked grin conveyed a comfortable confidence. 

Nora backed pensively up the stairs and Dean placed a foot on the first step. “No, uh, I can change, I-“ 

“Really, the bar is fi-“ 

“No.” She cut him off with finality. “Just give me two minutes, okay?” Her fingertips brushed a gentle reassurance over the backs of his knuckles that rested across the railing. She smiled, genuinely this time, and turned to walk back up the stairs. 

“Shit.” Dean mumbled after her door swung shut above him. He eyed his baby, and seriously considered leaving. This idea of challenging himself was becoming less appealing by the second. If he knew of another bar in this tiny town, that wasn’t next door to the girl he would be ditching, he might’ve slipped away and gone for his usual routine. But for now, he felt stuck. So he waited a minute. 

Sooner than expected, the heavy metallic door creaked open again. It shut with a bang and Nora turned to lock what seemed to be multiple deadbolts. As she descended the stairs in the same clunky manner, his eyes fell upon muscled legs that disappeared under a black skirt. 

Nora looked good. Maybe a little cheap, and a little uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop him from wondering what she might look like with that tight fabric pushed up over her hips. After all, he was sure he exuded the same discomfort. Dean briefly contemplated assuring her again that the fancy restaurant thing wasn’t necessary, but her last statement held a certain authority. He suddenly felt as if he was playing an awkward game of chicken. 

She reached the ground with a bounce. “See? Ready.” 

Dean just smiled and jerked his head in the direction of his car, ushering her to follow. The sleek contours of the Impala were highlighted under the yellow glow, and Dean heard a throaty hum as they turned the corner. 

“So it is a ’67.” He stopped his path and raised a satisfied eyebrow at the woman following him. “Couldn’t tell before, but the taillights give it away now.” 

Nora walked past him and to the passenger side of the car. The swing in her hips was obviously exaggerated, but Dean wasn’t complaining. As he approached he took a moment to appreciate her slender fingers resting over the hood of his baby. 

“That Buick out back yours?” He motioned to the only other car in the lot as he slid behind the wheel. Nora followed inside, skirt riding up just shy of indecency. 

“Yeah, he’s clunky, but he gets the job done.” She beamed with a pride that only someone with grease under their nails could have and tugged the fabric down her thighs. 

When Dean turned the engine over, the woman to his right purred along. He shrugged. “He’s a little young for my taste, but he’s not bad.” 

Before they had even left the parking lot, Nora’s hand flicked to the radio. Dean restrained himself and decided to give her a chance. She tapped the stereo and loud guitar poured through the enclosed space. She smiled and leaned back, apparently satisfied with his previous choice. 

“My favorite station, you’ve got good taste, kid.” 

“Kid? Pretty sure I’ve got a couple years on you.” 

“Well, I’m not sure what to call you.” She smirked sideways at him and he remembered he had never introduced himself. “’Strange diner guy’ is a little wordy.” 

He let free a sharp chuckle and extended his hand in a facetious shake. “Dean, nice to meet you. Didn’t you ever get the don’t-get-in-cars-with-strangers speech?” 

She took his hand, looking predatory. “Strangers don’t scare me.” 

The rest of their ride passed in a surprisingly comfortable quiet. The rode sparkled in the light rain that had started as it disappeared under the headlights. Dean tapped his thumbs on the wheel. Nora rested her bare feet on the dash and hummed along with the radio. For a few miles they debated the merits of Asia, and what Metallica album was best. Any awkwardness was quickly shed. 

Soon they were pulling up to the restaurant. Nora slid her feet back into the scratched kitten heels as Dean stuffed the wrinkled directions into his pocket. The façade of the building was made of tan brick and crawling ivy. Swirling iron stretched over glass doors, warm light seeping out between the metal. 

They shared an apprehensive look as they approached the entrance, but braced themselves. When Dean pushed the door open with the back of his arm, they were greeted with muted violin and a friendly smile from the hostess. 

Dean swaggered forth and leaned on the podium, trying to seem as if he belonged. “Hi,” he directed his brightest grin at the hostess. In turn she smiled, but her eyes drifted to his crumpled shirt. “I, uh, I’ve got a reservation. I think.” 

He heard Nora stifle a laugh behind him. 

They found themselves being directed through hallways and dining rooms aglow with flickering candlelight. The woman leading the way seemed to be stashing them in the deepest corner of the restaurant, away from other customers. It wasn’t entirely uncalled for considering their tawdry appearances. 

Dean and Nora took their seats under the pressed linen tablecloth and took in the room around them. It was all soft lighting and warm undertones. Their eyes traversed the entirety of the room before falling on each other with mirrored expressions. 

“It’s nice.” Nora was obviously trying to reassure him, but couldn’t help the caustic grin that broke her concentration. 

A waiter approached them, crystal carafe of water in hand. He filled the wine glasses on the table and placed heavy, leather-bound menus in front of them. With a slight bow he conveyed the specials of the evening and excused himself. 

Nora gawked at his solemn air. “No way in hell I could serve in a place like this.” 

Dean snorted and grumbled from behind the menu he had begun to skim. The prices lining the right of the menu made him thankful the credit card in his wallet held a name that was not ‘Dean Winchester.’ “From what I saw, probably not.” 

She laughed, a pretty descant that rang over the background hum of the dining room. It turned the heads of the tables around them, though she didn’t seem to notice. A strand of hair that had been tucked behind her ear fell over her cheek as she glanced down over the drink menu. Dean noticed for the first time how long her hair was, how it trickled over her shoulders and down her back. 

He couldn’t help but join in chuckling, disregarding the stares directed their way. She tossed the wayward lock behind her and extended her leg under the table. The pointed toe of her shoe prodded the hem of his jeans. 

“So, wine and pasta? I can dig that.” 

“Hey, you said wine and dine, I said I could do it.” Dean grinned proudly and raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

Nora balked momentarily before a toothy smile framed her words. “Is that what this is about?” 

“What?” 

“This,” she flipped the menu closed and used it to indicate the atmosphere around them. “This place. The clothes. The drink list in a different language.” 

Yes, in that moment, Dean definitely placed the blame on his brother—and maybe a little on the deep amber eyes glittering at him across the table. “I mean, I don’t, I—“ He stuttered out with a noncommittal shrug. “Hey, you said it.” 

Nora moved the leather bound menu in front of her mouth, sealing her lips against the giggle threatening to bubble over. Dean brusquely began unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. The cotton felt suddenly tight and itchy as he yanked it over his forearms. Nora’s gaze drifted over the tanned skin there and she dropped the menu from her face, her tongue darting out to wet the corner of her bottom lip. Dean’s frustration mounted. 

“Look, lady, I would’ve been perfectly happy with a bottle of whiskey and the back seat of baby, but you had to go and make some bullshit demands.” His voice was rough and just above a whisper as he leaned over the table. He lifted his arm in an erratic wave in her direction. “And you with those jeans yesterday, and those eyes, I mean, I can’t believe…” 

Nora remained quiet throughout his tirade, watching the way his shoulders moved under the thin shirt with interest. After some time she cut him off, her fingers reaching across the table and over the napkin folded in front of him. His speech halted and he glanced from her face to the hand now hovering inches from his chest. 

“I’m going to borrow this. Just follow along.” Hips and thighs rose into his line of sight as she lifted herself from the table. With one hand she took his napkin and the other his forearm, dragging him up with her. Dean’s knees bumped the table as he was wheeled around and away from it, headed out of the dining room. As they neared the door Nora slowed minutely to dip a corner of the fabric into a stranger’s wine glass. Their expression was somewhere between confused and enraged, and she whispered a quick apology from the corner of her mouth. 

As they emerged into the lobby, any air of discretion was shed. Nora raised her voice, drawing the attention of the staff. “Shoot, honey, it’s my nose again.” 

She lifted the red-stained napkin to her face, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. It looked nothing like blood, and Dean snorted. To his surprise, though, the staff was too frazzled by her boisterous theatrics to notice. 

This time, he took her arm. He still wasn’t sure what this woman’s plan was, but, shit, he was along for the ride. With one hand at the small of her back and the other cupping her elbow, Dean followed as Nora stumbled in the direction of the bathroom. One bold server had begun to walk in their direction, brows knit together and hands extended. 

“Thanks, my husband’s just going to help me get cleaned up, it’ll just take a minute…” She turned to talk to the server that had started to follow them, but Dean stopped listening. His initial confusion had begun to dissolve, and he was pretty sure he understood her antics. 

“No, no, this way…dear.” Dean said through tight lips, angling Nora away from the server and into the single stall bathroom off the lobby. By the time he slipped halfway through the doorway and leaned around the corner to speak again, the entire staff seemed to be watching. “Really, it’ll just be a minute.” 

Dean turned from shutting the door behind him to find his date standing in the center of the room, lascivious grin growing over her cheeks. The messed napkin fell from her fingers onto the marble counter as she strode slowly into his space. One hand extended past his shoulder and he heard the bolt on the door slide home. 

“Husband? Little early for that, don’t you think?” 

Her breath warmed the delicate skin where jaw met throat as she spoke. “They’ll let you do anything if they think you’re married. Married people are boring.” 

He chuckled and one calloused hand came to rest intuitively over her hip. “Yeah, and don’t married people normally have rings?” 

“So, I didn’t think that far ahead.” Nora nipped down his throat, eliciting a hiss from behind his teeth, his hand clenching around fabric and flesh. “Shoot me.” 

A deep, velvety chuckle rose in his chest, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back against the door. On the other side of the thin wood he could hear the shuffle of a popular restaurant during the dinner rush. There was only a moment of hesitation before he snapped back to the moment at hand. 

Dean dipped his face, seizing her lips with his. Her hand that had been lingering on the door cupped his jaw. They were a wreck of heat and tongue and touch when he withdrew slightly, drawing her bottom lip through his teeth. He was answered with a grind of her hips and a quiet moan to match the one he heard in his car earlier. 

He was unnervingly aware of his sobriety, accustomed to a certain blood alcohol content supplementing his hook ups. This tasted like toothpaste rather than stale beer, and every sense felt a little too much. But this was what he came for, what he excelled at. 

An indulgent hand squeezed his bicep as his mouth traversed across her jaw and down the line of her throat. In the hollow where neck turned to shoulder he left slow kisses, punctuated with a nip. Her breathing had become heavy and he lingered over the reddened skin with a smug smile. 

With imparting pleasure being on the forefront of his mind, Dean was surprised when Nora broke from his grip. The writhing warmth he had held in his arms was dropping to the floor. As she sunk she palmed indecently at the front of jeans, drawing a muffled groan from his mouth and a twitch from the swell beneath the denim. 

By the time she reached her knees, Nora had made easy work of the belt and button. With an infuriating slowness and an impish wink, she lowered his zipper. 

“Jesus, I’m all for foreplay, but how long do you think we have?” Dean pressed his palms to the cool door at his back as she maneuvered the front of his boxers out of the way. 

“Shh…” Nora hushed him with mock admonishment, one eyebrow raised and lips curled skyward. Wrapping her thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft, she squeezed and laid languorous kisses along the underside. Dean bit back a string of expletives as her tongue swirled and sucked around the head. 

Dean opened his mouth to speak again, but snapped it shut as he was engulfed in the wet heat of Nora’s mouth. She felt like silk and his hips stuttered forward in silent greed. He raised a hand from his side to cup her face, fingers tangling her hair and thumb brushing the sharp edge of her cheek bone. 

She hummed at the gentle touch and swallowed him to the hilt. His head fell back against the door with a knock. He considered the difference between that moment and where he sat just minutes before. If this was how they all went, maybe dates weren’t so bad. 

Nora enveloped his length with her lips, hollowed her cheeks, and worked him over with her tongue. Her mouth was heaven. The look she aimed up at Dean, coy and submitting, was enough to drive a guy crazy. 

Using the hand still woven through her deep brown locks, he tugged with gentle control, nudging her up off her knees. Dean gritted his teeth at the loss of sensation as she pulled off his cock with a vulgar pop. She met his gaze with a contented smile as she stood. 

“Sweetheart…” Dean hummed as he caught her hips between his hands and guided her back toward the counter. “My turn.” 

Once again his lips settled on the curved contour of her throat, this time without the tender caution he had held before. He nibbled at her skin, leaving tiny red indentations along his path. Her slender fingers curled around the nape of his neck, scrambling for purchase in his cropped, sandy hair. He trailed his lips, feather-light, over her collar bone and down the gentle slope of her chest. 

With a commanding grip, he lifted her from the ground and onto the cool marble surface. The calloused hands that had been clasped over her sides began a forceful path down her thighs, bunching up the fitted fabric of her skirt. With a perfunctory kiss to her sternum, Dean lifted his mouth from Nora’s skin and grinned up at her. 

Nora reflected his playful look, the contact dazzling with mischief. Her head fell back, relaxed, and eyes closed as Dean began pressing warm kisses up the inside of her thighs. A guttural moan made a home in his throat when his nose finally found the damp cotton of her under wear. His hands moved from their authoritative positioning over her knees to hook his index fingers under the elastic and pull. The cheeky briefs were flung aside and Dean fell upon her like a starving man on a feast. 

Tongue pliable and wet, he licked a lazy stripe between her folds. The saccharine flesh there enveloped him, and he was satisfied with the muffled groan she emitted. He palmed her thighs and squeezed, a gentle reminder to keep her volume in check. She giggled at his silent command and raised a single finger over her lips. 

Dean pointed his tongue and flicked it over her clit, teasing the sensitive bud. He swirled around it, mimicking the torture she had inflicted upon him earlier. He looked up at her through long lashes to be met with an incendiary glare. She didn’t say a word, but her pretty, lush lips were growing thinner by the moment. With a chuckle, he plunged two fingers into her slit. The sigh she emitted conveyed both relief and pleasure. 

There were only seconds of him delving into her before a sharp rap sounded on the other side of the door. Nora’s attention snapped to the sound, while Dean continued his torturous work. 

“Hello?” An unsure male voice sounded beyond the threshold. “Everything alright in there?” 

“Yeah, everything’s, ah, fine.” Nora gripped Dean’s hair roughly and pulled him from her. He meant to put on an exaggerated pout, but the intent glazed over in her demanding grasp. It was a harsh contrast from the girl who had been kneeling before him just minutes earlier. “Got some on my blouse, though. It’ll be a bit longer.” 

She yanked at him again and he followed happily to his feet. Nora crashed her mouth to his, hand still an influential presence at the base of his skull. They ignored the suspicious mumbles still audible from the lobby as she hopped to her feet and leaned over the counter. 

Nora met his eyes in the mirror with a challenging stare and a sway of her hips. “Think you can get me off before we get kicked out?” 

“Oh, sugar,” Dean clucked his tongue as he fished a condom from his pocket. Using one hand to slide lazily over his length, the other moved to his mouth, tearing the foil packet with his teeth. “My second favorite kind of race.” 

Dean took his sweet time smoothing the rubber down his cock, enjoying the sight before him. Nora had her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, eyes shut and head lolled back, exposing long expanses of throat and chest. Her hair fell wildly behind her, curling over her shoulder blades. The bow of her back gave way to round hips, skirt hiked up and still wiggling in a wicked dare. Her legs were long, tan, and looked as if they had scaled mountains, spread just for him. Thick thighs gave way to her dripping cunt, and she looked like paradise. 

With one hand bracing himself against the counter, the other squeezing the base of his cock, he poised himself at her entrance and breathed over her. “Ready, sweetheart?” 

Dean took her responding shimmy as an affirmative and slid home. They both suppressed a moan as his hand came to grip her hip and her eyes flew open. He could see her chest heaving in the mirror, and damn, if that was motivation to begin pumping. He held his restraint just long enough for her to adjust to his considerable size before moving. 

Dean drew his hips back in an experimental pull before slamming back with a harsh thrust. By the press of her weight against him and the needy whine she bit back, he assumed her approval. He quickened his pace before he was used to, unsure of how much time they had before someone really did kick them out. 

Fingers curled around the sink basin, Nora bounced back over his length. She was soaked and clenching around him with fervor. The woman was insatiable and he was glad to be used. Using his hold over her side, he pushed himself harder and deeper than before. 

Her breathing became loud and labored, and Dean was sure it would be audible from outside. Acting on intuition, and hoping it would be well received, he used his free hand to snatch the wine-stained cloth off the counter. Drawing it out between his hands, his thrusts stuttered a bit as he looped it around her head and between her teeth. 

He sought her gaze, asking silent permission. She met him with lust-blown pupils, hooded lids, and a hazy nod. He gripped both ends in his fist and pulled, raising her torso to meet his. His other arm wrapped around her waist and held her steady as he continued his assault on her pussy. The makeshift gag absorbed a desperate moan as he fucked up into her, her heels lifting from the tile floor with every drive. At this point he could feel her dripping down his length. 

He had begun sucking once more at the convergence of neck and shoulder when the pounding on the door returned. 

“This is the manager. It’s time for you to leave.” This time, the voice was deeper and filled with anger rather than suspicion. A fist met the door again. 

Dean grinned at Nora in the mirror and leaned into her, nose nudging the hair from in front of her ear. He was so close to the edge, but refused to fall without her with him. He canted his hips forward, brushing the rough mass of nerves on her front wall. The handle of the door jiggled and the man on the other side was spouting heated threats. 

He caught her eye once more in the mirror and whispered roughly in her ear. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come on my cock.” 

And she did. 

Nora let loose a feverish cry as her spine arched toward the mirror and thighs shook. The cloth did little to muffle the sound. Dean grasped at her hips in a vice so tight he was sure she’d wear his fingerprints tomorrow. 

His own eyes fell shut as he came undone and he was awash in sensation. Her walls clenching him as she rode out her orgasm, the insistent knocking on the door, the cool of the marble counter beneath his steadying palm, her string of breathy expletives. Dean spilled himself into the condom, taking a long moment before returning to earth. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted with a sated grin from Nora as she slid off him. She turned and placed a lazy kiss on his jaw before tugging her skirt down over her thighs. They both were blissfully unaware for a moment, riding their post-orgasmic glow. 

When they came back to reality, unfortunately, they were greeted with a rhythmic pounding on the door, one that sounded like they intended to take it down. 

Nora shrugged at him and placed one hand on the lock. “Ready to run?” 

“Always.” 

She swung the door wide and was greeted by an immense, livid man on the other side. Behind him, a dozen other faces were turned on them. Most onlookers seemed generally displeased, a few utterly disgusted, and one surly waitress seemed to be nodding in approval. 

Dean wove his fingers through Nora’s and slipped unceremoniously past the manager blocking the threshold. “Ya, know, ah, I hear blood is hard to, ah, get out of clothes…” His voice trailed as he led his date to the door, who was waggling her fingers at the angry staff in a cheeky farewell. 

“Nice place you’ve got here!” Nora shouted in her wake as she bolted through the iron-framed doors, Dean trailing behind. He offered the manager one parting smile and a shrug before following. 

Hands still connected, they tripped over their laughter on the damp pavement. They split only upon reaching the Impala, exuberance saturating the chilled night air between them. 

Dean fell into his favorite seat with familiarity and Nora followed suit. He slammed baby into gear and tore out of the parking lot. 

“Punch it, Chewie!” Nora giggled at his side and made herself comfortable in the leather seat, legs curled under herself and fingers twisting at the radio. 

Dean grinned, despite himself. This night that he had expected to be long and smothering had turned out to be exactly the distraction he was seeking. Sure, there was an impossible case looming and a ticking clock begging his attention, but for now there was a pretty girl in his car and a smile on his face. 

His hand found her thigh and his foot weighed on the gas pedal. Nora’s head was bobbing to the music and her hand was surfing the breeze outside the window. Classic guitar and the wind whipping through the cab filled any awkward silence before it existed. Dean thought to himself that this was a much more enjoyable post-coital option than the traditional cuddling. 

The moment was perfect, until it was interrupted. A loud grumble sounded over the radio, making its way from Dean’s stomach and into a quiet second between songs. 

“Shit, we never ate.” Nora laughed, easing any discomfort from the moment. “I’m starving.” 

“You pick the place this time, darlin’.” Dean beamed over the steering wheel, thumbs tapping along with a sharp bass drum. 

“Just head to the diner, we can eat there.” 

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her in his periphery. “Thought the diner was closed?” 

Nora shifted in her seat and lifted one bare foot onto the dash. “Perks of the job. I’ve got a key.” 

Dean chuckled and made a turn in the direction he remembered coming from, tires shushing over the pavement. 

“Hey,” Nora started, leaning in close, voice low. The pink tip of her tongue flicked quickly across her lower lip and she eyed the road. “What was your first favorite kind of race?” 

The implication wasn’t lost on him. His fingers tightened over the leather of the wheel, foot fell to the floor, and they flew.


	4. Chapter 4

The diner was just as dark when they approached, the parking lot illuminated by the lonely yellowing bulb overhead. The ride back was considerably quicker than the ride there, and Nora wasn’t sure if the glow she was feeling was from the sex or the speed. Either way, she was okay with Dean hanging around a bit longer. 

She stretched her legs out of the car and pushed herself through the door, shaking the windblown quality from her hair. Her heels clicked an insistent pace on the ground, assuming Dean was following. 

With keys dangling from one finger, she tossed a look over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was ambling behind her, hands in his pockets and legs slightly bowed. For someone in a wrinkled button up he looked an awful lot like a cowboy. 

Nora led him to the entrance around back that opened into the kitchen. She flicked the lights on, revealing the blackened steel of the old cooktops and sticky rubber mats lining the floor. 

“Ta-da!” Her arm swept across the room, a grand gesture of irony against the dim background. 

Dean shrugged and followed her winding path around wire shelves, coolers, and stacked buckets. “I’ve eaten in worse. Probably.” 

“Make yourself at home down here.” She illuminated the dining room and brought the jukebox in the corner to life. A slow, bluesy guitar lamented over the expanse of the room. It was funny how different the place felt without the rush crowd there. “I’m gonna’ change and grab the good stuff, then I’ll whip something up to eat.” 

Dean grunted his response and settled in the booth he had occupied the night before, legs outstretched and fingers drumming the tabletop. 

Nora glided through the swinging doors to the kitchen and up the stairs to her apartment. The lore books and notes from the case were still scattered about the floor, an unwanted reminder of the work to be done. She considered quickly picking up, stashing those that were more obviously abnormal, but decided against it. Hooking up in the diner was on her to-do list, anyway. 

As the stifling skirt hit the floor, she smiled at her lack of undergarments and imagined the red-faced manager finding them on the floor of the restaurant bathroom. She opted for the same jeans and torn t-shirt she had planned on wearing earlier, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey on her way out the door. 

When she re-entered the dining room, Dean had forgone the formal shirt and was leaning over the ancient jukebox in just his jeans and plain white undershirt. Nora took a moment to appreciate the view of his ass before setting the bottle loudly on the counter. 

“Anything in here released after 1960?” He turned and crossed the room in a few lazy strides. 

She grinned and set two plastic cups beside the bottle. “There’s some B.B. King on there worth listening to.” Dean grimaced and she shot him a warning glare. “Hey, King can rock, too.” 

The amber liquid looked black through the red tinted walls of the cup. She poured a generous three fingers of liquor in each and raised hers with a nod. “To public sex with almost strangers.” 

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle before taking a swig with her. The whiskey was cheap, but then again so were they. 

Nora swayed her way into the kitchen, gesturing for Dean to follow. “Any requests?” 

“That burger yesterday was pretty good.” 

“Medium rare, cheddar and bacon, right?” 

“Wow, you’re good at your job.” He hooked a hip over the counter and watched as she floated along the line. 

Nora ducked to grab ingredients from a cooler and sipped again from the fire in her cup. “Been doing it long enough, I would hope so.” 

“How long is long enough?” Dean matched her sip and moved to wash his hands, intending to help. 

“Ten years or so.” Her hands moved with tense pressure, forcing the ground beef into patty shapes. 

“Started young, huh? Family business? The owner seemed to cut you some slack yesterday.” He shook his hands dry and started digging for fries. 

“Something like that.” Her smile was tight as she drank greedily from her glass. It was time to divert the conversation. “What about you? What do you do for a living?” 

Dean returned triumphant from his search in the cooler with a large bag in hand. He chuckled a little, shaking his head, while trying to turn on the fryers. “Little of this, little of that. Whatever keeps us fed and on the road.” 

“Us, meaning your big dopey brother from yesterday?” Nora hesitated a moment, hoping she was correct. 

He laughed and tossed handfuls of frozen fries in the basket, waiting for the oil to reach temperature. “That obvious we’re related, huh?” Nora grinned and started laying strips of bacon over the flat top. “Well, he’s my big dopey kid brother, don’t let the height fool you. Fed him nothing but Wheaties growing up, he was part of this top secret experiment…” 

She watched his eyes glaze over with affection as Dean told stories about his brother. His lips parted in a warm smile that pulled higher on one side than the other, and drew lines in the skin around his eyes. The plain white shirt pulled taught over his biceps as he moved, flipping bacon, sipping his whiskey. Nora had to remind herself to keep moving to save herself from gawking. 

He was laughing to himself over some story of his brother trying to fly as a kid, but Nora was lost in the forest behind his irises. 

“So, I told him the cape would work! Not my fault his gullible ass believed me.” 

“Some big brother you are.” Nora had pressed the patties down with a sizzle and bumped Dean’s hip with her own, jostling him out of the way. 

Dean feigned hurt that faded to a cheeky grin. “Big brotherhood is a fine balance between protecting them, and torturing them. You have any siblings?” He leaned back against the opposite counter, tipping his glass to the ceiling and draining the last swallow. 

“I did, yeah.” Nora noticed the immediate shift in his posture. She kept her eyes forward, but could feel the pity growing in the momentary hush between them. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I—“ 

“It’s alright.” She turned with a smile on her face—genuine, if a little sad—and rested her hand over his elbow. “It was a long time ago, don’t worry about it.” 

The air became tense and brittle as Nora turned her focus back to the sizzling grill. Dean began searching for something to occupy his hands. The hollow tapping of his cup against the cutting board counted out each half second. 

“C’mon, kid. Grab the whiskey, we both need refills.” Nora winked and nudged him with her hip again, hands busy over the cooktop. “First dates are supposed to get awkward, right? There’s strike one. We’ll call it a night after three.” 

Relief was apparent in his posture as the tension ebbed from his shoulders. He sighed a fragile laugh and brought one hand up to scrub the nape of his neck. “That’s a good system, I like that.” He made his leave, one stabilizing hand brushing the exposed skin at the base of her spine. 

Nora tossed her hair over her shoulder and watched his ambling path to the dining room. Dean was hot and uncomplicated, charming and boyish, sweet and definitely not going to call her in the morning. He was the perfect sendoff to the hunter’s life she’d be delving into tomorrow. 

Her mind strayed temporarily to the case at hand, to thick fraying ropes and the unsettling look in the construction worker’s eyes. She was missing something, and it was nagging at the edge of her consciousness. Tomorrow morning she’d have to call Bobby, tail between her legs, to tell him she still hadn’t figured it out. 

Any thoughts of tomorrow’s problems were cut short by the jukebox, a sudden change in genre and volume. Dean had it turned up, pushing the antiquated speakers just this side of distortion. Heavy bass accompanied by the anti-establishment lament of John Lennon made its way back to the kitchen. 

The sound became clearer as Dean maneuvered through the swinging doors. Nora was returning from a shelf in the corner, plates and buns in hand, when she saw him enter. Hips swinging minutely to the rhythm, bottle in hand, he was humming just under his breath. He didn’t notice her gaze until he was almost to her side, back behind the line. 

“Wow, wouldn’t peg you for a Beatles kind of guy.” 

Dean grinned, a slight flush rising under his freckled cheeks, and topped off both of their glasses. “They’re not my first choice, but the Beatles can rock, too.” 

The liquor was beginning to effect both of them, sloshing through their empty bellies and receptive veins. It made the air a little softer, their words a little more slippery. This was a strange circumstance for both of them, far from the sticky barstools and cushion of a crowd at the pub next-door. 

It wasn’t bad, though. It was easy. 

Dean pulled the patties from the grill as Nora lifted the fry basket from the bubbling oil. They moved in tandem with each other, nodding their heads and humming low in their throats. He began assembling the burgers while she tossed and seasoned the fries. 

“Hey, you work better back here than half the crew. You got kitchen experience?” 

“If by kitchen experience you mean making a gourmet meal out of mac’ and cheese, gas station corn dogs, and marshmallow fluff, then yes.” 

Her nose crinkled as she crouched to pull condiments from the cooler. “Shit, if you can manage that you could do anything. Feel free and pick up some shifts here if you ever need a gig.” She let the offer slip, surely lubed by the flames licking their way through her bloodstream, before considering the implication of them seeing each other after that evening. 

His movements tensed a bit as he sliced tomatoes and lettuce. 

“Shit, was that another strike?” 

Dean grinned and the tension broke. “Yeah, I’d say it was.” 

“Better be careful or we’ll have to call it a night before we get to round two.” She turned her eyes to him through dark lashes and dimpled her cheeks. 

After that, there was an unspoken banish on small talk. Nora wasn’t eager to discuss her daily life, and it seemed Dean felt the same. She couldn’t blame the guy. The evening was pleasant so far: lighthearted and sexy without real world consequences. It felt as though any acknowledgment of life outside these walls would cement it in reality, ruining any careless fun they were having. So they stopped. 

They drank, they laughed, and they assembled their plates. They spoke in hooded glances and seeking fingertips. Any chatting was limited to teasing jabs and the situation at hand. It was comfortable. 

By the time they were finished and settling at the counter in the dining room, John Lennon was crooning over his desire for some illusory vixen. The song was among the most alluring of the selection at the diner and Nora was glad Dean had managed to sniff out this album. 

They sat with their knees turned toward each other, hers brushing the inside of his thigh as she tapped her foot along with the music. 

Dean bit into the hulking burger, an almost erotic moan getting caught behind his lips. “Damn, you can cook.” “Hey, it was a group effort. Go team.” Nora spoke through a full mouth, eliciting a fond grin from the man to her right. 

The greasy food did its job of soaking up the whiskey sitting heavy in their stomachs. They did their job in replenishing it. The more they drank, the more animated Nora became. She wiggled in her seat, hummed around mouthfuls of fries, giggled and told stories of customers and coworkers. Dean became loose and affectionate, one hand resting over her knee, giving the occasional squeeze. He listened as she talked, matching her tales with ones he had picked up on the road. 

By the time their plates were cleaned and two drinks became four, the Beatles had played their way through Abbey Road. Nora heard about the components of the Impala’s engine, his favorite Led Zeppelin songs, his fear of flying, that his favorite candies were peanut M&M’s, and how the rolling fields in Kansas looked when they burned off the excess growth after the summer. She told him about the time she broke her foot, that her favorite flower was honeysuckle, the cold driftwood beaches of Oregon she had explored as a kid, and that she liked to organize her fries by size before eating them. She didn’t know where his home was, what his relationship with his mother was like, what he did for a living, or where he went to school. It was ideal. 

Dean sucked a spot of ketchup off his thumb and eyed the glass bell jar next to him. Under it was a three-tiered stand, each level boasting a different assortment of sweets. “So, what about dessert? Any recommendations?” 

Nora stopped his hand where it reached for the cover, turning his stool with her knee so his back rested against the counter. She stood and shifted in front of him, denim-clad legs settling on either side of his lap. 

“I’ve got something better in mind.” 

Dean’s hands rose instinctively to her hips, palms rubbing the material there and thumbs hooked through her belt loops. Green eyes scorched a slow trail up her torso as he grinned, bottom lip worried between his teeth. “That was a little cheesy.” 

“Worked, didn’t it?” Her words blew across the hollow behind his earlobe; her fingers curled over his shoulders and traced their way down his biceps. 

Dean answered with touch, pelvis tilting into her and arms encircling her waist. She bared her teeth momentarily, grazing over the stubble that peppered his jaw. His hold on her tightened and his fingers sunk into the silky flesh at the hem of her shirt. 

The music and their movements were languid. They were lithe and pliant against each other, their attraction a bed of glowing coals. The urgency that had charged their earlier encounter was replaced by intoxicated exploration. 

Nora kept her eyes closed and mapped the man beneath her with every other sense available. The sharp fragrance of his shampoo. The feel of coiled strength that banded his arms and stretched over his shoulder blades. The traces of whiskey she chased across his tongue. The muted groan that vibrated his chest when her hips ground into his lap. 

Dean’s fingers found their way up the gentle slope of her spine and into the mess of dark hair at the base of her skull. His palm was a quietly insatiable pressure there, keeping Nora in place as he worshipped her throat and jawline. Her back arched into him as his forearm pressured her further into his space. 

Their movements gained momentum until they were swells crashing over a rocky shore, vast and breathless. Nora broke from him for one slow moment to stand, his hand still a reverent presence on her side, and peeled her tight jeans from her legs. Dean hummed at the sight of her ass and she grinned as she collided again with him. 

His lip between her teeth and her cheek in his palm, she made quick work of his button and zipper. Nora had his cock out and was stroking him hastily when Dean lifted his hips awkwardly from the stool, producing a condom from his back pocket. 

“Wow, glad you’re still thinking straight.” She laughed and took the wrapper from his hand, tearing it and rolling the latex down his length. 

“That’s me, always been quite the, ah,” he hissed behind his teeth and his head lolled back at her touch, “thinker.” 

Nora hovered over him, one stabilizing hand on his arm. 

“Sure you don’t want me to…” Dean was cut off with a deep and voracious kiss. 

“No. Not now. Need you now.” She sunk onto him and tossed her hair back in a dark arch. “Need your cock.” 

He seized the flesh of her hips again, surely leaving another set of black and blue fingerprints for her to remember him by. Once Nora was fully seated in his lap she fell forward onto him, her hands coming to brace herself on the counter at his back. 

Deep brunette hair fell in curtains framing Dean’s face as Nora rested her forehead against his. Their chests heaved against each other as they struggled to adjust to the sensation, their labored breath charging the air between them. His arm remained an unwavering presence at the small of her back. 

They were drunk, their actions loose and uninhibited. They were corporeal and unhurried, enjoying the sensation without implication. They moved in tandem with each other, her hips rocking over him as he stroked into her. 

Nora’s lips remained locked with his as they grinded together, hoping to taste every sigh she could coax from him. Hands traversed down triceps and up thighs. She rode him with leisurely indulgence, pulling her own pleasure from his cock. 

Dean angled his hips, punching a loud moan from Nora’s diaphragm as she threw her head back and arched away from his body. As her chin drifted back down to earth, her eyes settled on the dessert display behind him. She leaned over, him nipping and laying light kisses over her throat as she worked, and lifted the cover. 

As she righted herself, she dipped a finger into the frosting that layered a slice of red velvet cake. Her finger hovered in the air between them and she grinned. Dean raised an interested eyebrow, humming deep in his chest. It was obvious where this was headed. 

Her tongue flicked out from between her lips, pink and pointed, to taste the cream cheese icing. She savored the sugary flavor as she smeared the rest down the side of his throat. Hips rolling, she lowered her face and traced the saccharine trail from collar to chin. His throat bobbed and jaw flexed. Sweetness still lingering on her taste buds, her mouth seized his. He groaned into her and relished the new sensation. 

When he broke from her kiss, Dean turned his head and eyed the array of sweets. He leaned over, one hand steady on Nora’s hip, the other reaching for a piece of apple pie. Nora wrinkled her nose but he didn’t seem to notice, dipping a finger under the crust. He cradled her wrist and painted the sticky filling up her forearm. 

Nora held her breath as Dean lifted her pulse point to his mouth, landing on it with gluttonous fervor. His tongue laved across the sensitive skin there and Nora waited. He came up spluttering. 

“Damn, that’s awful.” His brows knitted together in confusion and nostrils flared. He looked at the goo on her wrist as if it had betrayed his trust. 

Nora threw her head back, chest shaking in laughter. “Yeah, the pie is shit. Best to steer clear.” 

Dean’s eyes remained locked on her arm in confusion as she moved to wipe it on her shirt. 

“Here, wash it down.” Nora reached for the plastic cup behind him, extinguishing any bitter taste with the blazing liquor. He sipped gratefully and without flinching. 

Nora recaptured his attention with her lips, laying them over his as her soft body fell back against him. The rough burn of whiskey lingered on his tongue. Her hands smoothed over his sharp cheekbones and across his shoulders as she picked up her pace, grinding feverish circles down his cock. 

She could feel her stomach pulling taut, her orgasm impending. Clutching the worn cotton of his t-shirt she bobbed and chased her pleasure. Dean’s breath was laced with expletives as his hands came to support her hips. 

Her mouth sought Dean’s skin like an antidote to the pressure building in her. His grip tightened around her hips and he became her tether. He held her there, a reassuring presence as she hovered over the edge. 

“I got you, sugar.” 

Her head fell back as she cried out to the ceiling, fingers leaving their imprints around his biceps. She kept moving through her climax, and Dean followed suit. His face fell to her chest as he twitched inside her, pelvis rolling and muscles unsteady. 

They clutched each other as they came down, as if letting go would risk falling from the earth itself. Their lungs were greedy for air, raspy and shaking as they replenished the oxygen in their systems. The bluesy hymn of Nina Simone poured from the jukebox, the only sound that could be heard above their breath. 

“Damn.” Nora was the first to lift her head, one trembling hand pulling the hair from her face. 

“Damn, right.” Dean chuckled haughtily as he untangled himself from her, elbows coming up to prop himself against the counter. 

She swatted his chest as she lifted herself from him, both of them grimacing at the sudden loss of contact. Stooping to slip her feet through the legs of her jeans, she nodded to the back of the restaurant. “Bathrooms are this way if you wanna’ clean up.” 

Dean tucked himself awkwardly into the band of his boxers and followed behind Nora as she strolled away. They shared a wayward glance as they split to their respective restrooms. 

In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bathroom Nora saw flushed cheeks and engorged pupils. Her hair had double the volume of when they started and her lips were rosy and swollen. Her fingers came to trace the sensitive skin around her mouth, a small smile making its home there. 

She cleaned herself up, splashed water over her face and shook out her hair. Checking the mirror once more before exiting, she tugged a bit at the hem of her shirt and grinned. The bright light emphasized her inebriation, though she wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the sex that was causing her to waver. 

When she reentered the dining room Dean was already there, standing in the center of the room with his hands tucked into his pockets. Frank Sinatra was crooning across the dining room. From the antiquated speakers it wasn’t hard to picture him—foot tapping and fingers snapping, golden horns playing the harmony behind him. 

Dean turned at the sound of her shoes on the tile floor, a toothy grin illuminating his features. His hair was mussed in every direction, his cheeks flushed, and his shirt wrinkled where Nora had gripped it. He looked sated and boyish. 

“Hey.” Dean seemed self-conscious now, shoulders curved and gaze bouncing, as if just a minute ago Nora hadn’t been completely undone around him. 

Nora mimicked his posture, fingers slid into her back pockets, and fell to his side. She joined his gaze, watching the swirling lights on the jukebox and tapping her thumbs. 

“Hey, yourself.” Her voice was low and hoarse, cutting the gravid stillness. “You dance?” 

Eyebrows raised, Dean angled to face her. He looked down at her for a moment, watching her foot tap as she nodded with the beat. A small laugh escaped his lips, and he looked away. 

“Only with the help of tequila.” 

“You and tequila sound like a good time.” Nora swayed her hips as she drifted into his field of vision, feeling emboldened, and trailed her fingertips across his chest. “Isn’t there something about dancing and sex correlating?” 

His tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip, hands coming to rest over hers. “Think I’ve already proved myself there, sweetheart.” 

She moved closer and nudged his pelvis with her own, coaxing him to sway along. Dean moved to take a step back, but was halted by Nora’s grip on his shirt. With a roll of his eyes he placed a palm at the small of her back, the other winding around the hand she still held on his chest. 

Nora grinned, both childish and victorious. 

They rocked together, slow and easy. Dean put on an act of annoyance, but couldn’t hide the smile that pulled at his lips. Nora was impressed with his rhythm. 

The song picked up, encouraging a certain swing, and so they did. He lifted her arm with his and propelled her under the arch, her hair flying around her as she spun from his hold. 

“Can’t dance, my ass.” She teased when she was back against his chest. 

“Yeah, well, that’s all I got so don’t expect much.” He snorted, maneuvering around one of the tables. 

“Where’d you learn? You sneak off to take lessons on the weekends?” She cajoled him again, toe bumping into a chair and shoving it loudly from its spot. 

“Not quite.” Dean chuckled at her clumsiness. “I was taught at the renowned school of standing-on-mom’s-feet.” 

“Does she like Sinatra?” 

“She liked the Beatles.” 

“Must be one helluva’ woman.” 

“Yeah, she was.” 

Nora took notice of the past tense the second time around and paused. Her jaw went slack and feet stuttered. “Shit, sorry.” 

A nostalgic smile curled his lips. “S’alright, it was a long time ago.” 

The song ended. The music picked up once more, the next song uncomfortably fast for the current atmosphere. They stopped dancing. 

Nora backed away, creating a gaping space between them. “I’d call that strike three, wouldn’t you?” 

His hand came up to scrub at the nape of his neck once more. “Yeah, Sam’s probably worrying about me by now. I should get back.” 

She walked toward the door and he followed, palming his discarded button up on the way. She reached for the handle and he ducked past her. They paused for a moment in the threshold, savoring the last sight of each other. “You sure you’re alright to drive?” 

“I’ve made worse decisions.” He laughed, and Nora glared. “Honestly, I’m fine.” 

“Alright. Goodnight, Dean.” 

Fingertips pressing into his chest, she urged him through the door. He began walking backward with a swagger, eyebrow quirked and lower lip between his teeth. 

“Hey!” He shouted back to her, halfway to his car. “If I come back before I skip town, you gonna’ make me another one of those burgers?” 

“Sorry, it’s off the menu.” Nora winked, and shut the door. The lock slid with an audible click and she was left alone, only the jukebox to keep her company. 

She wandered the diner, tidying and closing up. The last thing she needed was to piss off Arthur just before leaving. 

The night had been strange, but enjoyable. Nora reflected on it through a dreamy lens. Dean was sexy and simple and perfect for that night. She realized after some time that she didn’t even know his last name, but that it was best that way. 

As she trudged up the stairs to her lonely apartment, she dreaded the call to Bobby she’d be making tomorrow. Soon enough she’d have to give in and accept the help of the other group of hunters that had been sent. Until then, she’d sleep, her dreams saturated with Sinatra and cheap whiskey. 

* * *

The drive home was a blur. Dean shouldn’t have had as much to drink as he did, but restraint was certainly not on his mind that night. He made it back safe, the Impala’s headlights fanning over the front wall of the motel as he turned into the lot. 

Putting the car in park and checking himself over in the rearview, he readied himself to see Sam again. His hair was pulled in every direction and his lips were inflamed. Dean was less worried about the just-had-sex appearance and more worried about the liquor that laced his breath. Sam would never say a thing, but a drunk driver stumbling out from behind the wheel of the Impala felt a little too familiar. The disappointment was always heavy and silent. 

Dean grabbed a piece of minty gum from the glove compartment and his forgone shirt from the backseat, and headed inside. 

“Sammy, I was right.” He started speaking immediately upon opening the door. “The restaurant was a bust.” 

The room had been lit through the window when he left, but was dark now. The only illumination came from the screen of Sam’s laptop, the blueish glow exaggerating the contours of his face where he stared in fascination. 

“Jeez, have you moved at all since I left?” Dean turned the overhead light on. 

Sam blinked up at him, seemingly yanked from his concentration. His hair was also a mess, but in the way that it got when he was frustrated and combed it through with his fingers. A deep line was carved between his brows and his shoulders were stiff from hunching over the keyboard. From the look of things, no, he hadn’t moved. 

“I think I’ve got it.” His voice was rough from disuse, but there was a certain excited light in his eyes. That nerd always got excited when he solved an especially hard case or learned something new, which is why he spent his night here while Dean spent his night out. A pang of guilt struck Dean’s gut when he thought too hard about it, but he pushed it aside. 

“Yeah?” Dean raised his eyebrows and tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed on his way to the bathroom. 

“Yeah.” Sam stood from his chair, stretching his back and flexing his tired hands, “It’s definitely weird. Nothing we’ve dealt with before.” 

Dean stripped down and turned the shower knob like opening a safe, slow and thoughtful. He stepped under the spray before it had time to heat up, hoping the chill would shock the blurry filter from his brain. Nora was untroubled and beautiful and definitely not someone he should ever see again. It was probably the sex or the liquor or the burger, but the knot in his chest was begging for miles between him and that pretty girl. 

Sam came to lean against the door jam, arms crossed over his chest and one heel hooked over the other ankle. He spoke over his shoulder and through the shower curtain, filling Dean in on everything he had figured out that evening. 

The next night they would be back at the construction site, and then hopefully this whole mess would be over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to restrain myself from posting for a little while, go me!

When the morning sun rose to radiate over the window and began warming the main room of her apartment, Nora dawdled. She picked up loose books and articles of clothing, scrubbed every surface and took all of her dirty dishes down to the kitchen. Her shower was especially long and luxurious. She braided, let out, and then re-braided her hair three times before settling.

The last day before hitting the road was always the hardest. Suddenly the smothering hominess of Coldiron was cozy, her bed was immensely more comfortable, and she preemptively missed Diana’s homemade pot roast. Sure, she could hope she’d be back soon enough, but in her profession there was no guarantee.

Then there was the call to Bobby. Something about this case felt so close, like the answer was climbing her brainstem and waiting for its cue to take the forefront. It killed her to admit defeat.

But finally it was time. She had packed all of her bags and loaded the Buick, ready to hit the road. There was another case worth following two states over that she planned on checking out after this was taken care of. She’d probably drive out to see Bobby as well, it’d been too long since she’d made the trek.

Slamming the trunk shut, she fished her cell from the pocket of her oversized green canvas jacket and dialed. Bobby’s gruff voice answered, in the same perpetually-irritated tone she had come to expect.

“Hey, Bobby…”

“What’s goin’ on over there? You get the job done?”

“Actually, about that…” Nora paused a moment, kicking a rock across the parking lot and worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“Dammit, girl, I told you to take the help. What happened?”

“I can’t figure it out, Bobby!” She exploded, quickly regaining her composure. “I can’t, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Anyone else been hurt by this thing since the first guy?” He was all business, having none of her stubbornness.

“No, no one. I’d almost say there was no case if it weren’t for weird possessed tree shit, growing through him.” She pulled a loose strand of hair from her face and peered over the blue horizon with a sigh. “Makes no damn sense. Whatever it is has plenty of victims, there are civilians all over with the protest and all, day and night.”

“Witches? Could’ve been cursed.”

“No signs anywhere, no hexbags, no one with motive.”

“Pagan thing? Did you check the date and the lunar cycle, see if it matches any known ritual?”

“I’m no rookie, of course I did.”

“Well maybe you missed…” His crackled voice was cut off by her booming one.

“Dammit, Bobby, no!” She actually stomped her foot, something she was glad he wasn’t around to see. “This isn’t the kind of thing I miss. I’ve searched everything that makes sense.”

“And you’ve got squat.” He sounded resigned as well.

“I’ve got a possessed tree and some enchanted construction workers tied up in the forest. Law enforcement is coming to cut them down soon anyway.” Her frustration deflated, coming to terms with the fact that this one might not get solved.

“Well, maybe we give this one a few days, watch the area, see what happens.” Nora hated the disappointment in his voice.

“What about those hunters you sent out here? They get anything?” The soles of her shoes scuffed the ground in a sound that echoed off the brick wall of the diner behind her.

“I haven’t heard from them since yesterday morning. They’re next on my to-bitch-at list after you.”

“Well, alright. Go ahead and tell them we can survey the site together over the next couple days. The guys there shouldn’t give us any trouble. Shitty protest, I thought there was supposed to be chains and padlocks and chants and signs.”

“Yeah, well, Coldiron ain’t exactly big on…”

“Wait, shit, Bobby that’s it.” Nora halted her pacing and stood straight.

“That’s what?”

“Coldiron. No chains. Shit!”

“Dammit, girl, if you don’t explain yourself I…”

“It’s an old town story. Really old. Supposedly how the place got its name.” She wedged the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she hurried to start the car, keys chiming against each other in her excited grasp. “I skimmed it over in some old newspaper at the library once.”

“Well, are you gonna…”

“Thank you so much Bobby, I’ll take care of it tonight!” Throwing the gear shift back and with a perfunctory look over her shoulder, she peeled out. Once on the road she flipped the phone shut and tossed it to the passenger seat.

Nora couldn’t believe how long it took her to make the connection. She was sure then what it was, what it had to be. Now, she just needed to know how to kill it, and she had until sundown to figure it out.

* * *

The sky was aflame in deep orange and pink hues when the Winchesters set out from their motel. They had packed their bags and loaded them into the Impala, planning on leaving directly after the hunt. With the construction crew still standing their ground there would be plenty of witnesses and there was no telling how unpopular they might be the next day.

“Man, are you sure about this?” Dean eyed his brother in his periphery before returning his focus to the road. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and shook his head. They’d seen weird before, but this was something else entirely.

“Well,” Sam paused. He chewed his lip and shrugged. “Not entirely.”

“Dammit, Sam.” The heel of Dean’s palm met the steering wheel with a loud thump.

“Hey, it’s the best lead we’ve got!”

“But this is weird. Like, really weird. Even for us weird.”

“You think I don’t know that too?” Sam angled himself in his seat, shooting an accusatory look at Dean. He shrunk under the glare, biting back any retort that he held on his tongue. “We’ve got a friggin’ arsenal in the trunk and good idea of how to kill it. We’ve been in worse situations.”

“Yeah, well, a good idea doesn’t sound very good”

“Yeah, well, neither does another dead body.”

A silence fell between them, permeated only by the grind of rubber over a gravel road. Dean drove slowly so as to avoid flying pebbles. The sky was fading to shades of magenta and purple as the sun gravitated toward the horizon.

He knew his brother was right. He knew it was their responsibility to man the front lines, but something about leading Sam into a situation they knew little about didn’t sit right with him.

He remembered the widowers from the day before, the teenager sneaking a beer, the little boy running off to play. He sped up a tad.

“Fine, so, what’s the plan?”

“Well, I think, shoot the tree, the big one. Draw it out. Fire should kill it.” Sam hesitated, unsure of his own ideas but at a dead end otherwise. His brow furrowed and he drew into himself. “I think.”

Dean picked up on the hesitation and straightened his spine. He set his brow firm and turned on his megawatt smile, though this time all he wanted was to bolster his little brother. “Piss it off and light it up. I like it.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam chuckled fragilely, “I hope so.”

They rode without speaking for the rest of the drive. Dean steered the Impala off the road and into cover roughly a half mile from the construction site. The cops should be gone for the night, but they could not be too careful. Loaded up with a sampler platter of weaponry, they began their hike.

* * *

Finding the information was easy enough. The Coldiron Public Library had a dusty old room in the back, utilized almost solely by students working on school projects, that held information on town history. An archive of every issue of the high school newspaper to be published, a census book dating back to the town’s founding, maps of the area from over a hundred years ago.

Nora saw the story in the local paper almost a decade ago, shortly after moving in above the diner. The urban legend said that Coldiron was so named by its original settlers after the only weapon that saved them from the local beast. Nowadays, it was a bedtime story. Nora took it as fact.

Collecting the spell components she needed was a bit harder. She knew fire would kill the thing if it was weak enough, but she’d be in over her head with just a flame thrower. Last time, it took a caravan of settlers and an enchanted weapon. Nora was going to have to supernaturally MacGyver her way through this one.

She didn’t have a ton of experience in spellwork, but she had read on it extensively and these weren’t the hardest of spells. Breaking enchantments, chilling metal, the kinds of things she imagined little witches learning in little witch kindergarten.

With her bag packed and the sun sinking more quickly than she was prepared for, Nora sped out of town. For a moment, she considered putting a call in to Bobby, asking for back up, but she was too proud. This was her town, her responsibility.

 * * *

People. There were people everywhere.

The first thing that struck Dean were the dozens of pairs of eyes reflecting moonlight back at him. The next was the tree, the glowing fucking tree.

There were at least twenty more people than there had been the last time: some men, some women, a couple children. Among them were some recognizable faces. There was the pimply teenager that had helped him at the gas station, a couple wrinkled smiles he remembered from the diner or the bar, even the two cops they had spoken to. Dean saw the widow from the day before, and had to swallow bile at the thought of those kids tied up to trees as well.

Every face followed their stride as they entered the glade, all of them holding the same crazy, faraway expression from the day before. No one moved. Their hands rested over the thick rope binding them there.

Dean set his jaw and marched straight forward, not wanting to experience the optical illusion of their tracking eyes. Sam moved slower and from the corner of his eye, Dean could see him looking around, slack-jawed, meeting the gaze of every poor son of a bitch there. Dean gripped his sleeve and pulled.

And the tree, the tree fucking glowed. A nauseating green light seeped between the cracks in the bark and emanated from the leaves. The radiance created harsh shadows and painted everything in a macabre wash. It pulsed. The light expanded and contracted like lungs, like the tree itself breathed. It looked bigger than it had the day before, fuller. There was new growth in places. Even the underbrush was longer, impeding their movement.

Whatever they were fighting, it was smart, and powerful, and it had expected them.

The atmosphere was uncomfortable for them. No blood, no noise, all tranquility. The sound of their boots hitting the ground was maddening. Every move felt anticipatory. The tree huggers stared at them like they were a pie on the window sill, delectable and almost cooled enough to eat.

When they finally stood just ten feet from the tree, the light was tangible, licking at their skin and urging them closer. Dean turned to his brother next to him and shook out his shoulders, miming disgust. Sam swallowed and tightened his jaw, clearly nervous.

It only took a few long seconds for Dean to raise his handgun and pull the trigger. The bark splintered and turned inward on itself on impact, the bullet lodging itself two inches deep.

A high, resonating shriek shook them, coming from the inside tree. And that, that was Dean’s limit for creepy for the day.

The pallid glow retreated, shrinking into itself fleetingly before exploding. A shockwave rippled around and past them. Barely visible, a dark humanoid shape was darting from behind the tree and deeper into the forest. Dean immediately tensed to follow it, but stopped.

Behind him, there was a noise: a shuffling of ropes and a low murmur. Both brothers turned slowly to face the growing hoard behind them. All of the previously smiling faces were somber now. They were stepping over the piled of rope that once held them in place.

One of the police officers was edging to the front of the group, hands in his pockets and eyes locked on Sam. “Boys, I think we’ve got a problem here.”

Sam glanced at his brother before clearing his throat. “Problem?”

“You seem to be trespassing on her land.” The rest of the group was circling, creating a human cage around them.

“Her? Who’s her?” Dean said while drifting to his right, putting a shoulder in front of Sammy. Sam turned quickly, his back firmly against Dean’s.

“We’re gonna’ need you to leave.”

“Sure, sure, don’t want any trouble here.” Dean smiled, eyeing the people around him. There was a mother wringing her hands, a little boy pulling at her skirt, a construction worker with twitching fingers next to them. “If you’ll just let us through, we’re headed thataway.” He hooked a finger over his shoulder and in the direction of the tree.

The kid sprang first. Just had to be the kid. The boy locked his arms around Dean’s leg and clung there as he tried to shake him off.

From the corner of his eye he saw the construction worker hulking toward him, hands no long trembling but rather balled into fists. Dean kept jerking his leg, managing to shake the kid loose and toss him back towards his mom just in time for the construction worker to reach him.

Behind him he heard Sam yelp and speak in disbelief. “She bit me!”

Dean wanted to be both worried about his brother and amused at his struggle, but he had his own problem to deal with. He ducked as the man in front of him swung, slow and lumbered.

“Man, you need a shower.” Dean retreated, hands up in a show of peace, until his back met his brother’s. Sam was struggling too, throwing off little ones as gently as possible while dodging swings. “Sammy…”

“Dean, they’re just people.”

“I know.” Dean squared up. “I’m really sorry about this, man.” He threw his first punch.

Those who had moved to attack them were slow and stupid. Many of them were strong, the crew that had been here for days, but didn’t seem to have any thought or plan.

Dean had shoved two workers and one especially scrappy teenager back to the group when he heard Sam shout for him. He whirled to face him, only to find his partner swamped. There were people clinging to every limb, mostly children, some smaller women and men, dragging him down and hindering his movement. It would’ve been hilarious if it weren’t for the one kid clawing at his throat.

“Sammy!” He shouted and dropped his guard for a moment. A heavy fist connected with his gut and knocked the wind from him. He kept moving toward his brother.

Without warning, another shockwave rippled past them. This one was a powdery puff of air, hitting their chests and rolling through the trees. It smelled like incense and traveled like a wave, crashing over itself.

The people dropped. It was quiet.

All of them fell to the ground, many pressing their temples, many observing their surroundings with confusion. They were pushing themselves from the ground, looking at Sam and Dean with hesitation. A little girl was crying somewhere in the midst. Clearly whatever spell had been holding them had been dropped, and that was worrisome.

Dean crouched to take the nearest hand, a woman he had seen two days earlier buying milk at the gas station. She had a baby with her then. He helped her to her feet, eyes searching her for marks.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I think I’m fine, I just…That tree, I…” Her eyes were frantic, one hand coming to rest at the side of her mouth.

Dean placed a hand at the small of her back and urged her forward, away from the formerly glowing tree and toward the road. “Sam, we gotta’ get these people out of here.” He turned his head, eyeing those who were strong enough to stand on their own, and raised his voice. “Those who can, grab someone and start walking.” His command was militant.

Sam helped a man to his feet and scooped up a kid under each arm before following. The group was slowly migrating.

They weren’t five yards away when a hiss rose behind them, like boiling water escaping wood. Dean encouraged the young mother to keep walking and stepped toward the sound. For the first time, he had a clear view of what they were up against.

It was a female figure, or so he would assume. It would’ve been hot, too, if it’s skin weren’t armored in scaly bark. White hair floated around its face in a luminescent halo, weightless as if it were underwater. Its eyes were long almond shapes, too wide on its face to resemble anything human, with poisonous yellow irises. Vines encircled its torso and curled down its legs, seemingly moving and twisting on their own accord.

It was gliding toward them from behind the big tree, toes dragging the ground and fingers skimming the foliage around it. Everywhere it touched held a residual glowing aura. For a fairly unexpressive tree-person, it looked pissed.

Sam jogged to his side, no children in hand. He began to step forward, hand moving to the makeshift blowtorch Dean had fashioned earlier that day.

“Sam, get the civilians out. I’ll deal with this.” Dean put an arm over his brother’s chest, halting his movement, but kept his gaze forward.

“Dean, this—“

Dean cut him off. “Dammit, Sam, someone’s gotta’ get these people out of here or else no one can fight this thing. Go.” He turned to face him, the set of eyes demanding compliance. “Now.”

Sam swallowed his response and nodded, ushering more bystanders away from the action.

The creature locked eyes with him, hastening its movements. What he had thought was a solid, featureless face cracked open, a wide grin shining through the bark.

Dean shuddered inwardly, but wasted no time reaching under his jacket to grab his own miniature flame thrower. It wasn’t the prettiest weapon he’d ever held, but he was still proud of what he could do with spare pieces from the local hardware store.

Clicking the gas open and lifting the machine to eye level, he lit the spark. It roared to life in a cloud of flames in front of him before taming to a steady stream. The surprise of it knocked Dean back for a moment; he recovered quickly. An oversized grin split his face, watching the aerial bonfire he was controlling with childish glee.

The mouth-shaped hole that had fractured the creature’s face was snarled, the eyes shrunk to slits. Its posture was hunched and defensive now, moving slowly and circling the flame. The bright orange light licked at it, extinguishing its pallid glow. Its movements were animalistic, stalking around toward Dean’s flank.

He turned smoothly and quickly, the column of flame following his movement like a whip. There was a short moment before the flame engulfed the thing that felt as if it lasted minutes. Its eyes widened and then slammed shut, its hands rose to cover its face. Its body curled inward on itself, even as its hair stayed afloat.

Then, with a quick green flash of light, it was gone. No smoke or embers flying. No hissing scream. It could’ve been dead.

Dean lowered the torch and looked around. There were just two figures left in the long grass near the tree, slumped in unconsciousness. As he jogged closer, he recognized the farther one as the girl from the family the other day, Michelle. Brunette hair fell across her face to mix with the overgrown underbrush. His stomach twisted.

He reached the first figure in the grass, a young man, probably graduating that spring. He bent to check his pulse, glancing around him in the process. The pulse was strong and steady but whatever spell that was had knocked him out cold. Dean tried to wake him up, while remaining on guard. There was a tiny glow growing from behind the bark and he picked up the pace. At some point, he could hear Sam’s heavy footfalls on the earth behind him.

The kid spluttered awake, choking and blinking furiously. Dean helped him up, slinging one limp arm over his own shoulder, and turned toward the girl.

Her eyes were wide and desperate with alarm, both hands clawing at the twiggy fingers that held tight around her throat. The creature’s other hand had torn open the bottom of her shirt and was tracing threatening circles over her abdomen. Dean froze, jaw grating.

“My army. My land.” It spoke, its voice sounding as if it was filtered through broken glass. “I thought you hunters might become a problem someday.” One sharp finger trailed up, past her bellybutton and over her sternum. The other hand tightened around the girl’s throat, forcing a choked sob from her lips. “Strange, this system you humans have come up with.”

An abrupt, metallic sound came from just behind the creature, high and echoing off the trees. The creature widened its eyes and whipped its head in that direction. It seemed to be coming from the tree, but with the glow of the creature so close to him, Dean was blinded to whatever lay beyond.

Another tinny shuffle, the sound of chains moving against each other could be heard. The creature flinched at this one, dropping the girl from its grasp. Sam stooped immediately to catch her, hauling her behind his wide frame.

The creature shuddered in pain, limbs quivering. Its hair fell from the air to rest flatly over its shoulders, and the internal glow stuttered. Dean removed his arm from the kid and grabbed his torch.

From the same place the clinking of chain had come from, he heard a rough voice call, “Now, dammit! Torch it now!”

He obliged. Flame spilled forth, curling into the air in front of him. The creature turned to move but was trapped in the blaze. This time, it caught.

The first thing to go was the hair. Fine and wispy, it went in a bright halo, like kindling. The bark smoldered, flames catching in places, embers spreading in others. The vines burned down like candle wicks, transporting the flame all over its body. The clearing wreaked of campfire and sap as the creature writhed. Dean didn’t let up until it fell in a heap of bright red firewood.

Dean breathed heavy, arms falling to his side. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, much darker than the bonfire that had been before him, he saw the figure that stood by the tree. They were short, and probably female as he began to make out a long braid. She was bent over, leaning her head against the tree. Her back looked as if it was heaving with breath and effort.

As he approached, he saw that the chain had a soft glow to it, this one plain white. His hand came to the gun at his back, moving slowly and with purpose.

“Alright, who are you?”

“Ah, Christ…” Her voice was hoarse. She raised her face, flipping her braid over the far shoulder, and straightened herself. And there she was, the face he had been secretly hoping not to see among this crowd, amber eyes and olive skin.

Dean held his gun between them, not aiming, but making its presence heavy. He shot her a tight lipped grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nope, just me, sweetheart. Now,” He took one step forward and gestured with the barrel. The chain still in her grasp was emanating magic. “Who the hell are you?”

She dropped a hip and looked at him incredulously. “Hi, name’s Nora, I think we’ve met.”

“And, and, what, you’re a…” His mind bounced between witch and hunter. Realization spread across his face and his gun fell to his side. “Are you the bitch that left us high and dry? Bobby’s contact?”

A Cheshire smile curled her lips. “Hey, I came around.”

Sam stifled a laugh and moved to Dean’s side.

“You…Did you know? That I…We…” Dean stuttered over his words, anger and confusion muddling the line between mind and mouth. “When we were, I mean, you knew?”

Nora’s hand scrubbed over her face and her previous bravado deflated. “No, no I did not.”

The following quiet was heavy. Their eyes bounced from each other, to the ground, to the tree, and back to each other. In reality, it was only seconds, though it felt like years.

Sam cleared his throat. “Ah, guys, we’ve got fifty people waiting by the road to go back to town. We should probably deal with them first.”

“He’s right.” Her eyes didn’t leave his as she spoke. “We can debrief later.”

“Right.” Dean followed suit, straightening his back and turning to his brother. “I can take four or five at a time if you stay here with the others.” He schooled his expression and turned back to Nora, standing there in her too-big coat and muddied boots. This hunter in front of him looked so different from the soft and pleading woman he had held the night before. “Did you bring your Buick?”

“Yeah, I can take four with me.”

Dean turned without a word, marching out of the forest. Both of the stragglers, the young man and Michelle, had bolted for the road as soon as they were capable. The familiar sound of Sam’s stride followed behind him, as well as the lighter, quicker sound of Nora’s feet hitting the ground.

As he cleared the tree line, Dean was met with a huddled mass of scared, cold people. Everyone was dealing with the shock in their own way: tears, blank stares, a few conversing under their breath. He coughed loudly, drawing their attention to him.

“We’re gonna’ get you home.” His voice was gruff and austere, sparing no energy on his bedside manner. Sam and Nora caught up to him, flanking him on either side. “It’ll take a few trips, but Sammy here is gonna’ stay with you while we drive.”

Sam eyed his brother and spoke up. “You’re safe now. It’s dead. We can explain if you want us to…but, you probably don’t want us to.”

Nora moved out from his side, taking the arms of an older couple she seemed familiar with. It hadn’t struck Dean that Nora might know these people. To him they were a responsibility; to her they were friends and neighbors. His anger subsided as he watched her open the car door for the couple, laughing and drawing uneasy smiles from them.

Dean turned to face Sam, finding his brother watching Nora as well.

Sam shook his head, a small smile on his face. “We should’ve known.”

Dean didn’t reply. Turning back to watch the woman duck into the car, his jaw flexed. He should’ve known. He thought back to their night together, raking over their conversations, trying to remember scars on her. There was the allusion to a dead sibling. As for scars, they had both kept their clothes on most of the night. Public sex didn’t lend itself to nudity.

“Told you she could kick your ass.” Sammy clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts and moving away to the group of waiting people. Sam did the talking for both of them, separating the people into families and groups to be ushered into the Impala.

Dean avoided conversation on the rides back to town. There was never a good time to tell someone monsters were real, but when they were frightened and shivering seemed an especially bad time. Even worse, he had never dealt with this many people exposed at once. His grip over the wheel was white and desperate. He left the radio off.

 * * *

Nora enlisted a local friend, and between the three cars they got everyone home safe within the hour. The Impala, her Buick, and the other man’s SUV sat alone in the diner parking lot, long past closing hours on the quiet Monday evening.

Nora had taken her friend aside to speak to him. Their conversation was within earshot of where Sam and Dean stood, her thanking him and promising an explanation at a later date. From what they could hear the man was aware of the creepy crawlies in the world, but didn’t seem the hunter type. The exchange strayed to less pertinent topics, the local sports team, how his mom was doing these days, and the Winchesters turned their attention away.

“Alright, let’s get outta’ here.” Dean began walking toward the Impala, but stopped when he realized Sam wasn’t following.

“We should wait, talk with Nora before we go.”

He sighed, turning around to look his brother in the eye. “Not necessary, man. The thing’s dead, town’s safe, save me the chick flick shit, alright?”

Sam rolled his eyes and centered his stance. “Dean, I don’t care about your date. She obviously knows something we don’t about this thing. And whatever that was, that spell back there, we should find out.”

Dean paused, body language still indicating the intention to bolt.

“She’s Bobby’s friend. We should at least talk to her.”

He obliged finally, returning to Sam’s side with crossed arms and a sigh. Within moments, Nora had said goodbye to her friend with a kiss on the cheek and a friendly wave. She strode back to the boys uncomfortably, hands jammed in her pockets.

Dean took a moment to look her over. She wore the telltale wardrobe of a nomadic life: hand-me-down layers, a too-big army jacket, scuffed boots, and faded denim. The makeup she had worn was replaced by a sheen of sweat and a swipe of dirt over one cheek. Dean stifled the urge to wipe it from her face. Her hair was braided and hung over one shoulder, strands escaping in some places. Her posture mirrored that of his the night before, unsure of her own presence.

“So, I guess I’ve got some ‘splaining to do.” One side of her mouth curled in an apologetic grin.

“We’ve got a few questions for you, yeah.” Sam took a reassuring stance and laughed his answer. He held no anger, just an intellectual curiosity that eluded Dean.

“Can we do this over a drink?” Nora smiled in earnest this time and began stepping backward, toward her car.

Dean chuckled and spoke to her for the first time since the forest. He jerked his head toward the bar that stood across from the diner, empty and unlit. “Looks like the local watering hole is shut down, let’s just get it over with here.”

“Red’s?” Nora wrinkled her nose and twirled the keyring around her index finger. “That’s a civilian joint. There’s a hunter’s bar two towns over, we’ll talk there. Probably got a place to crash for the night, too, if you need one.”

With eyebrows raised, Sam looked to his brother for approval. Dean grumbled and reached for his keys. “Alright, how do we get to this place?”

Sam jogged to the passenger door and stood. Dean stared Nora down, waiting. She quirked an eyebrow and turned away, swaying her hips on her way to the hulking black Buick.

“Just follow me.” Swinging the door open, she leaned over it and directed a challenging smile at Dean. “Think you can keep up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying it, leave me encouragement while I work on part two!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter, as it wraps everything up. Enjoy!

“A dryad.” Nora’s voice was hoarse, hissing over the liquor that was burning its way down her esophagus. “It was a dryad.”

Sam’s face lit up, teeth flashing white from behind the mouth of his beer bottle. “So, I was right.”

Nora hadn’t spent much time observing him at the diner, but was enjoying his company now. He was light and easily excited, a certain youth to him that this life had yet to steal. He wasn’t much younger than Nora, but the difference felt like decades.

“Yeah, pretty impressive. There’s not much useful information out there. How’d you figure it out?”

Dean had been notably absent from the conversation thus far, but his voice got louder as his glass got lighter. “The ‘Monster Brochure,’ or something.” He snorted his response.

“Monster Manual.” Sam quietly corrected his brother, lips turned up and eyes turned down.

Nora grinned and raised an eyebrow in interest. “As in, the Dungeons and Dragons book?”

Simultaneously, the men across the table set their drinks down and stared. Dean looked disgusted, Sam looked pleased.

“No, come on, that’s not real, you don’t know that stuff.” Dean looked betrayed, similar to the face he held after tasting the tainted pie.

Nora promptly folded up those thoughts and stashed them in the mental box labeled “never again.”

 “I don’t know a ton, but I’ve read enough. A lot of those creatures are based on real lore.” She laughed a little, taking another sip. “How’d you end up looking there?”

Sam chuckled and shook his head, his demeanor looser than that at the diner two nights before. He hadn’t even finished his first beer so she assumed it was a matter of a job well finished. “Honestly, I was desperate. Looking for anything that fit the description. Ended up with that, the dryad. It was the only thing that made sense, what with the ability to possess trees, enchanting people, and the giant oak.”

“Not bad. They were pretty close, too. Came from old Greek lore.”

Dean settled back in the booth, eyes scanning the crowd behind them as Sam leaned forward, forearms coming to rest on the table. “What about you, where’d you get your information from?”

“Old town legend. Supposedly that’s how we got our name, Coldiron. First people to settle here came across this one’s big sister. There was a witch among them that knew a thing or two about the supernatural, crafted them a magic weapon to deal with it.” She was enjoying the opportunity to exchange intel, it wasn’t often she talked shop.

“So, what did you do? What were those spells?” Sam was eager and intellectual.

Nora watched his expression glow in interest as she explained the spellwork she used to break the enchantment, to chill the metal chain, how it had kept the dryad from escaping as they burned it the second time. She saw the flicker of envy in his eyes as she told him about the collection of lore books and ancient tomes that littered her studio apartment. She thought inwardly that a kid this bright should be using his smarts for something normal, going to school and becoming a doctor, saving people in a way hunters couldn’t.

Dean, contrarily, was quiet and impartial. He sat on the outside of their bench, surveying the room and eyeing the door. He was a sentinel, only showing occasional interest in the exchange of information. The most expressive moments from him came when Sam became excited, speaking loudly or leaning across the table. Dean eyed his brother with an amused affection in those cases, quietly sipping his drink with a smile, or shaking his head with a laugh.

When the conversation slowed and the glasses emptied, Nora excused herself to the bar. She didn’t wander into the hunters’ social circle often, and she felt their eyes on her back as she maneuvered through the crowd. The place was dark and smoky, and the crowd was generally hushed. Some of her earliest memories involved playing tag in the parking lot while her parents talked inside, or sleepovers on the squeaky, threadbare cots upstairs. It had been a while since she had fallen into this role, but some things are hard to forget.

Balancing their drinks between both hands in a trick learned from waiting tables, she began moving back to the booth. When she breached the edge of the crowd, Dean’s watch was waiting for her, tracking her movements. His eyes met hers, smiling for a moment, before falling back to his glass, his thumb smoothing over the lip.

She settled back into her seat and slid two bottles across the table. None of them had the time to really celebrate tonight, knowing there was more work to be done in the morning, but they could enjoy each other’s company for a while.

“So, either of you feel like getting your ass kicked in pool?” Nora wiggled her eyebrows. Dean sipped his drink and looked at his brother, offering him up to her challenge.

Sliding a glance sideways, Sam spoke up. “Dean’s the pool shark here, you guys go play.” He clapped his palm over Dean’s shoulder. “Should be a good game.”

Nora rose from the table, fingers resting over the edge, and looked down at him. “Come on now, I don’t bite.”

Dean tilted the bottle to his mouth and took a long drink, condensation dripping down the neck to land on his lower lip. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and looked over at Sam before pushing himself up from his seat.

One hand on the small of her back and the other carrying his drink, he leaned down and spoke in Nora’s ear. “We both know that’s a lie.” He followed Nora through the crowd and toward the back of the room where a faded green table stood unused.

She handed him a cue, and they played in silence for the first few rounds. He broke and sunk two balls straight off the bat, and she put down three on her first try. It was looking like a quick game, and was more comfortable than they had any right to be.

Dean was the first to speak, hands resting over his cue stick, watching Nora lean over the table. “So, you really didn’t know?”

“I should’ve known.” Nora closed one eye as she lined up her shot. “Bobby told me he sent someone, I should’ve made the connection.” The ball shanked right, missing the pocket by a good six inches.

“Yeah, I get that.” Moving around the table, he sipped his beer and searched for his shot. “I should’ve known you were the weird, secluded hunter that refused our help.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Nora had the humility to at least look sheepish, shrugging and letting her gaze drop. “I’ve been told I don’t play well with others.”

Dean set his bottle on the edge of the table and leaned over, focusing on a tricky shot. He lifted his eyes from the ball for a second, forest green gleaming up through thick lashes and smile blinding. “Yeah, I get that, too.” He shot, still holding her gaze. The ball fell into the pocket like it was magnetized.

Nora raised her eyebrows in concession. “Nice shot.”

He circled the table again, pausing next to where she leaned against it. “We worked well together, though.” His chest was close, encroaching on her personal space, and his gaze was searing down on her.

“Yeah, not bad.”

He continued his circle around the table, coming back to almost the exact spot he stood before. “Maybe next time, we work together some more.” His shot was shaky and hasty. He scratched.

Nora pushed off from the table and tilted her bottle back, draining the last few sips in one go, and let it hang loose in her hand. She left the cue stick where it sat, leaning against the far wall, and made her way around to where Dean stood.

Dean watched her movements, and followed the trail of her fingers, skimming over the worn green felt. She stopped next to him and he straightened, turning to face her. Her hand settled over the eight ball for a moment, before picking it up and holding it between them.

“You’ve got my number, if you’re in the area.” She placed the ball back down and rolled it into the nearest pocket. “If you need me to save the day again, that is.”

“Cheater.” He grinned, and eyed the hole it had disappeared into. “I don’t think that’s how this game works.”

“Rematch next time.” She turned from him, walking toward the booth where Sam was sitting patiently.

When she glanced back, tossing her hair over one shoulder, his eyes were hungry. She caught him watching her walk away, glancing from head to toe, memorizing the way her hair fell and the sway of her hips. He waited for one more moment before catching up.

“So, who won?” Sam smiled up at Nora as she reached the table and set her bottle down, Dean following a step behind her.

“It was a tie.” She picked up her jacket from the seat and keys from the table.

“Ah, can you tie in pool?” Sam chuckled under his breath, looking to his brother.

Dean didn’t respond, watching Nora move as she shrugged the threadbare army coat over her shoulders. “You hitting the road?” His voice was rough.

“Someone’s gotta’ do our job.” She winked as she spoke. “There’s a case in North Carolina I’m going to check out. Plus, I hear the beaches are nice.”

Sam straightened in his seat, his interest piqued. “What is it? Do you want some help?”

She shot a quick glance at Dean before answering him. “No thanks, I don’t play well with others.” She took a couple steps toward the door before turning back to them. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

And with a wink and wiggle of her fingers, Nora was out the door and into the brisk night air. It was late, but she had miles to go before she rested, not that she could’ve slept anyway. The hunt and her company kept her heart beating at a quickened pace.

She admired the lustrous angles of Dean’s car as she passed it in the lot on the way to her own. A good part of her hoped she’d see it again, but the realistic part knew better. She took her time to memorize the lines and the feel of the engine coming to life. She mapped out all the memories from the last two days as she reached her trusty, dusty Buick.

With a long drive ahead, she dug through her tattered box of cassettes. The tape was buried, hidden unused in the bottom left corner. It slid into the player with a click, and lilting guitar permeated the air. For some reason, she was in the mood for Abbey Road.

* * *

Dean watched her walk away. He memorized the color of her hair in the hazy lighting and the slope of her shoulders, the way her toes scraped lightly against the floor and her fingers drummed over her thigh. He allowed himself to indulge in that one final look. When the last glimpse of her had disappeared behind the door, he turned and settled across from Sam.

Sam raised his brow and sipped his beer, silently accusing. “That was quick, half expected you two to slip off to the bathroom or something.”

“Ah, come on, man.” Dean quieted him with a glare. “She’s a hunter.”

Sam rested his bottle on the table and spoke with caution. “I know, but, I mean…Wouldn’t that be a good thing? Someone you could really talk to?”

A fond expression took hold of Dean’s face for a moment. He shook his head and drained his drink with a rough exhale. For a moment, he let Sam see past the buoyant demeanor he had been so adamant on keeping. His shoulders sagged and his smile was melancholic. He rolled the bottle between his palms when he made his admission.

“Not a lot of time left in this world, Sammy. No time for girls like her.” When he brought his eyes back to Sam’s, the façade was back. Any vulnerability was locked away again, mythical in its rarity. He spoke with a wink. “Besides, what’s the fun in talking?”

Sam shook his head and stood from the booth. “So, we heading out?”

“Ah, one more round, then it’s back to business.”

Sam nodded, chuckling lightly and patting his jeans for his wallet. He turned and walked to the bar in slow, lumbering steps.

Dean skimmed the patrons left. Most were hunters, but there were a few stray women hanging around. He tried to muster up the desire, but couldn’t. Not tonight. All he could see in their hourglass figures was falling sand.

“What about that week in Cicero?” Sam spoke enthusiastically as he settled back into the booth, sliding a bottle across the table. “I do owe you one.”

Dean dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Ah, you were right. There’s work to be done, we’ll find a case in the morning.”

“Well, actually…” Sam started in on an article he had read the day before, something that looked like a werewolf in Illinois.

Eyes glazed, Dean lost focus. All he needed was to be told where to drive and who to gank. He knew his place as the muscle of their duo.

His vision fell on the jukebox in the corner. This one was newer, and seemed to play only hair metal. Dean wasn’t complaining about the selection at all, but he found himself absently wondering if they had any Sinatra on hand. He smiled, and he drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished for now! Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Part two is in the works, leave me encouragement to get my butt in gear and finish it!


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